A Matter of Malevolence
by RuthanneReid
Summary: Sometimes, perspective is everything. From day one at Hogwarts, Severus Snape had problems, half of his own making, half not how one interprets those problems depends entirely on one's point of view. At least with Severus, one principle is always consiste
1. Default Chapter

** A Matter of Malevolence **

_A thousand years ago at least,  
Great heroes of renown  
Would offer lives in sacrifice  
To save their small home towns._

They fought the fight, they kept the faith;  
They never showed distress!  
But with them dying left and right,  
The heroes numbered less.

_Then lo, did come in nick of time  
Four wizards true and brave;  
They worked quite hard to change the world -  
For lives and land to save._

Vampires they fought, and dragons, too -   
Let's not forget the hags,  
Spiders, warlocks, snakes and ghouls,  
All were in the bag.

All in all, it took them years;  
But they established peace,  
And no more was it necess'ry  
For heroes to decrease.

Of course you've guessed the ending now,  
And think there's no surprise;  
I beg to differ - no, my friend:  
There is just ONE aside.

Because, you see, the one who chose  
To put forth such an effort  
Was not the good, brave Gryffindor,  
Nor Hufflepuff, the Zealot.

It wasn't dandy Ravenclaw,  
Though stupid, she was not;  
In point of fact, 'twas Slytherin  
Who organized this lot!

He'd thought of fame, he'd counted gold,  
Put wisdom to the test;  
And in the end, decided  
Reputation was the best.

And so when Hogwarts first broke ground,  
The world did clamor close -  
To learn from these four Heroes true  
Was what they wanted most.

So listen well, and learn, my friends,  
All houses, great and small:   
There is a place for EVERYONE...  
And that, my dears, is all.  
  
The Sorting Hat took a bow, and as the Great Hall burst into thunderous applause, Professor McGonagall looked over the heads of the boys she was scolding and gave it a very unhappy glare for being finished before she was.

"The hat's song is done," she snapped, looking back at the sopping miscreants before her. "And you two are _out_ of good graces for tonight! Get back in line, behave, and if I hear that either one of you has so much as set a foot out of place the rest of this evening..." She left it unfinished, which really was just as well; considering that between the two of them they'd bewitched the lake green and the giant squid into wearing baubles, it was readily apparent that neither student was lacking in imagination.

_"Bagman, Ludovic!" "Slytherin!"_ The hat had already begun to sort, but fortunately, both children were alphabetically toward the end, and could find their spots without too much difficulty. Chilly lake water dripped from their robes onto the floor. 

McGonagall fumed back to her seat. It was really a minor miracle that only one boy had ended up in the hospital wing, given the violence of their disagreement.

_"Black, Sirius!" "Gryffindor!"_

Dumbledore waited until McGonagall had seated herself and stopped huffing before he said anything. "Was there a problem, Minerva?" he asked conversationally.

_"Bones, Andrew!" "Ravenclaw!"_

McGonagall waited until the cheering stopped to answer. "Those two there - the wet ones - fancied they'd have a go at each other on the way across the lake. I'm not sure what set it off; neither of them felt inclined to explain, not even to blame one another, which I found odd."

"Goodness, Minerva!" whispered Sprout, leaning across as well. "What in the world happened?"

"A lot of luck," McGonagall growled, and crumbled her napkin in her lap. "It's a good thing their aim wasn't nearly as refined as their proficiency in cursing or all three of them would be in the hospital wing."

"Three of them?"

"There's the last one," she said, and pointed. An older man accompanied by a younger woman came trotting to the door and sent the remaining boy, who was rubbing his eyes, to the end of the line. "Conjunctivitis Curse," McGonagall explained quietly.

The timing couldn't have been better; still rubbing his eyes, the boy trotted up to the hat as his name was called.

_"Lupin, Remus!" "Gryffindor!"_

Dumbledore sighed quietly. "Thank you for handling it, Minerva. I'll take it from here."

The Gryffindor table cheered, and the line of students moved slightly forward. Clustered together as if for protection, the row of eleven-year-olds stared with awe at the room around them and jumped at small noises.

_"McCormick, Megan!" "Slytherin!"_

There were only a few under the enchanted starlit sky who didn't seem as inclined to fear. Not crouching or cowed, these took a slightly different tack. Some of them simply grinned at the pairs of eyes gleaming curiously in the dark all around them -

_"Potter, James!" "Gryffindor!" _

- while others adopted an attitude of lofty calm. Of course, two of the boys pulled more attention than others because they were still sopping wet.

_"Snape, Severus!"_ And one of those, staring straight ahead as though nothing and no one existed in this room except for the Sorting Hat, seemed to have come off just slightly worse than being soaked. His limp wasn't so pronounced that most would notice it, but when he pulled the Sorting Hat over his head, this was the first thing it commented on.

_Well, you're an interesting one,_ said the hat, settling down past the boy's ears and resting on his nose. _Shame he got you in the leg like that - wasn't really a fair fight, was it, two on one?_

_Just sort me, I haven't got all night,_ the boy snapped back, and the hat's laughter echoed through his head.

_Well, I suppose that cinches it,_ it said, shifting a little around his wet hair. _Neither brains nor bravery do you lack, but your heart carries darkness and anger - too much, I'm afraid, to put you in any place except for..._

_"Slytherin!" _

The Slytherin table cheered, and the boy removed the hat from his head and hurried toward his chosen table. He could hear _"Timms, Agatha!"_ making a small noise of disgust as she discovered just how wet the hat was after he'd put it down, but he didn't care. Dropping into a seat at the very end of the table, he pressed his palms against his eyes and leaned forward until his straggly hair hid his face.

Across the hall, over the sound of _Wood, Jonathan _(_"Hufflepuff!"_), he was almost sure they were talking about him. Paranoia in the dark was never healthy; but they were sniggering and looking his way - 

_"Widdershins, William!"_ was sorted into Slytherin, and everyone applauded for the last time as Dumbledore stood to open the feast.

"I've never been fond of long speeches before eating," the headmaster said cheerfully. "And so I only have one word of advice before we begin: enjoy!" 

Everyone cheered. Food made its appearance, conversations bloomed, and the boy named Severus slowly sat upright and looked without interest at the room around him.

No one seemed to be looking back at him; perhaps his moment of humiliation had passed. Just to be sure, he glanced toward the Gryffindor table.

The ones who'd dueled with him were laughing together, talking, apparently bonded by their brief and impassioned conflict on the lake. They looked, to him, absurdly happy.

Severus watched them for a while; the peach crisp scooped anonymously onto his plate grew cold, and still, he watched them. Had anyone he'd ever seen laughed and grinned for that long a period of time? He rather thought not, and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why they _were_ so happy.

There was a short lull in the hall as the eating began in earnest, quieting the general noise enough that he could suddenly - unfortunately - hear their boisterous conversation.

"Still can't believe he just _cried_ like that - it's not as if you broke his leg, Black!"

"Well, he deserved it, the greasy git, didn't he? But I still think that little move of yours was better, Potter. Kazaam, right to the stomach!"

They laughed, and Severus hunched forward again, hiding behind his hair. But it was too late; Black, apparently, had caught him looking.

"All right, _Snivellus?_" he called amiably across the hall, and most people around him laughed just because he was contagious like that. Severus hunched lower and hid behind the pumpkin juice pitcher.

More laughter from the Gryffindors, and more - he was sure - eyes on him; the brief yearning he'd felt at watching their happiness was already gone. His leg was hurting; perhaps it was better not to think about it anymore.

"Damn them all," he said in a quiet voice, and poked at his peach crisp until dinner at last was over. 

He was the first Slytherin - save the prefect - out the door, and he did not look back.

* * *

"And this is the common room," said the prefect Malfoy, flicking a hand lazily toward the room of cold, damp stone loaded with chintz furniture. "This is where you'll probably end up spending most of your evenings, doing your homework or whatever. And please don't forget, the password is 'praeclarus.'" 

"Praeclarus? What kind of a password is that?" a boy with limp, blonde hair was saying. "I think we should make it something simpler - like 'beautifulness!'"

"'Beautifulness' isn't a word, you idiot," replied another boy.

"That's what would make it such a good password!" argued the first, growing slightly red in the face.

"Now, now, you two," Malfoy intervened, looking from one to the other. "Abbott, wasn't it? And Rosier? It's only your first night, you can save the arguing for later. Boys' dorm is in there, girls' dorm is that way."

Abbott eyed him dryly. "None of us are girls."

"We can't be sure of THAT just yet, can we?" said a girl of about fifteen, speaking snidely from the girls' dorm doorway. "Haven't seen any of you lot naked."

"Ah," Malfoy said, and for no discernible reason, looked incredibly amused. "Hello, Bertha."

Bertha gasped. "Um... enjoy your tour!" she squeaked, and disappeared back into her room. 

Malfoy smirked coolly and shook his head. "I slipped a love potion in her tea last week just to see what would happen," he said to the staring first-years. "It didn't work quite right; now she just acts like a blubbering git."

"You wanted her to fall in love with you?" said Rosier, looking slightly dubious.

"Of course not. She's three steps away from a Hufflepuff," replied Malfoy as though it were only common sense, and shook out his long, blonde hair. "All right, then," he said, looking the rest over. "Who are you all and where do you come from? I'm Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy. I'm also prefect this year, as you might have gathered; that means I get to tell you people what to do. And the rest of you?"

The eleven-year-olds shifted, glancing around a little.

"Well, come on!" Malfoy insisted, and began to point. "You? Rosier. Speak."

"I'm Rosier," said Rosier, brushing his over-long brown hair out of his eyes. "And my father knows your father, I think; he's on the Wizengamot."

"Then they know each other, I'm sure," drawled Malfoy with some satisfaction, and eyed Rosier critically. "What was your first name - Evan, right? The second? Yes, our fathers know each other quite well. All right, and what about you?"

"Artemus Abbott," said Abbott, trying to toss his hair as Lucius had done; being limp and lifeless, however, it just sort of flopped in one thin mass. "I've been doing magic since I was two years old, so if you people need any help at all through our first year, you can be sure to come to me and I'll tell you what you need."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Is that true?" Abbott seemed to hesitate slightly, then nodded. Malfoy snorted. "Well, then I'll expect to see some great things from you later - hey! Where are you going?"

Severus was leaving.

He'd never been around this many people at once, and the noise alone was enough to bother him; on top of that, he'd decided that Malfoy was a pompous git, Abbott was full of dragon manure, and simply put, he didn't want to hear anymore. "To bed," he answered coolly, edging the words with just enough sarcasm that the boy who'd laughed at Lucius's earlier comment laughed at this one.

"No, you're not," Malfoy replied, ignoring the boy who laughed. "You're staying right here and telling us how you pulled off that Conjunctivitis Curse. That's something even most seventh-years can't do well, you know."

Now everyone was looking at Severus. Severus stared back. They'd seen? They KNEW? For a moment, his eyes were wide with apprehension; then somehow, the nervousness transformed into anger, and he scowled. "No, I don't think I will. Why don't you ask Abbott? Given his credentials, I'm sure he could give you a more than adequate explanation." And with that, Severus stormed through the door and shut it behind him.

He could hear them talking behind him ("I'm William Widdershins, but you can call me Willy," said the boy who had laughed at him), but he paid them no mind. The door to the boys' dormitory opened onto a cold, stone hallway; there were tapestries and portraits along the way, and one solitary suit of armor.

"Got a bit of a limp there, don't you," creaked the armor in a high, oil-free sort of voice as he passed.

"Shut up," replied Severus, and the armor huffed.

"Suit yourself," it said, and then started laughing wheezily. "Get it? SUIT yourself? SUIT! Ha ha!"

Severus ignored it and picked one of the doors at the end of the hall at random.

He was faced with a small, perfectly round room. Five four-poster beds were spread evenly around; there were no windows for obvious reasons, although there were large, rectangular holes above each bed that seemed to be for ventilation. There was no way to know which bed belonged to whom. Sighing, he bent and began checking the trunks at the foot of each to try to find his own.

"Hey. Snape," came a voice from the door, and Severus turned to find Malfoy looking at him. "You really need to go to the hospital wing, you know. That Gryffindor got your leg pretty good. Much higher and he would have hit you in the nadgers."

This conversation had just left annoying and landed squarely in embarrassing."Did you memorize all our names, or only those of people you thought would be useful to you?" Severus snapped.

Malfoy's eyes widened slightly; then, he laughed. "Oh, you're just adorable! Actually, I wanted to ask you about that Conjunctivitis Curse - "

"I'm not telling you anything," Severus said decisively, and slammed the trunk shut. "Go away."

Malfoy ignored that. "Your room is to the right of this one," he offered helpfully, but he was smirking; Severus scowled at him and pulled out his wand.

"You want the Conjunctivitis Curse, do you?" he said, his voice deceptively smooth. "Keep pushing and you'll get a first-hand demonstration!"

"Well, well, Severus," said Malfoy, purring a little, his hands up in surrender. "I'm not your enemy, you silly child. I'm trying to help you."

"No, you're not," Severus replied, scowling; but he felt embarrassed at his loss of temper now, and put his wand away. "Just go away."

Malfoy sighed dramatically and ran his hand through his hair. "I can tell you're going to be difficult. That's all right, I can deal with difficult. Come on - I'll show you to your room." He moved to the door, then stopped and looked behind him. "Well? Coming?"

Severus scowled further, but followed. It was that or sit in somebody else's room in the dark - and that would just be stupid.

* * *

His own room, it turned out, was much the same as the last one. Severus climbed onto his headboard and peered into the wide airspace above his bed.

"Curious, Severus?" asked Malfoy, who was watching him closely from the door.

"No," Severus lied, and hopped back down again; escape was a concern in a place with no windows. All business, he walked around to his trunk and started unpacking it.

Malfoy watched him in silence for a while, then lay down on Severus' bed and watched him from there. "Ready to go to the hospital wing yet?" he asked, sprawled gracefully on the pillows.

"No," Severus replied, then winced as he turned too quickly.

"I think you need to," said Malfoy, and Severus sighed.

"You're going to nag until I give in, is that it?"

"Why yes - you figured out my dastardly plan," Malfoy sneered, and Severus glared at him.

"I don't. Want. Your help. I don't. Want. Your friendship. I don't want ANYTHING at all from you except for your silence, so if you're so eager to help you could at least give me that!"

"Oh, MY," Malfoy exclaimed, looking highly amused. Severus growled at him and resumed unpacking.

Slowly, the other first-years shuffled into the room. Most of them looked tired and were yawning, but one or two were still curious. The small, mousy-looking boy hopped onto the bed next to Severus and bounced on his knees.

"Hi!" he said.

Severus ignored him. Carefully, he took an old-looking leather box out of his trunk and placed it on the nightstand next to his bed.

Willy was eyeing the box with great fascination. "I said - hey, do you want that? It's a really nice box - "

"Shut up."

Malfoy laughed. "Ignore him, Willy, this one bites."

Severus' glare could have melted iron.

"I don't fancy my pillow," said Rosier.

"Take Willy's," Lucius instructed, and the Rosier did just that.

"Hey!"

"Don't worry about it, Willy; Rosier here's got more muscle power than you, so he gets the better pillow."

Rosier laughed, tossing his own pillow over to replace the one he'd snatched. Abbott whistled.

"Might makes right, eh? Machiavelli was dead on, let me tell you!" he said, looking pleased with himself.

"It was Thrasymachus," said Severus in a tone like a chilled knife as he pulled out his pyjamas. "Justice is whatever is in the interest of the ruling party. The ruling party is always the stronger. Therefore, justice is always whatever is in the interest of the stronger party. Don't talk about things you don't understand," he sniped, and pulled off his robes. There were purple bruises decorating his back and sides.

Malfoy laughed and lay back against Severus' pillows. "Educated firstlings! Marvelous." 

Abbott was staring at Severus' body. "Who hit you?"

"Probably somebody else he tried to correct," sneered Rosier, and Willy guffawed.

Severus ignored them all. Solemnly, he donned his slightly worn pyjamas and glared at Malfoy until the latter got off his bed. He was tired of all the talking, tired of the idiocy, and the jostling for control, although he supposed there hadn't really been that much jostling. Malfoy had simply walked in and taken control, and that was that - the privilege of a prefect.

Too bad. Severus had no intention of doing anything anybody said, and he had no problem cursing anyone who tried to make him.

"You really need to have your leg looked at," Malfoy drawled at him, and Severus growled and pulled the blankets over his head. He was asleep before the rest of them had finished talking.

* * *

It had been a strange sort of relief to finally leave his home and travel to Hogwarts. His father shouted a lot. His mother merely cringed, and the two of them carried on a bitterly miserable ballet through the house regardless of who was there or what they were doing. Severus himself had learned long ago that his presence made no difference in their pitiful warring; it did, however, affect how he felt. Loud voices and intrusion upon personal space were two things he absolutely COULD not stand, and given this, his reaction to Willy Widdershins crawling bodily over him at four in the morning was actually commendable.

Severus was in the middle of a deeply satisfying dream in which he'd bewitched all the castle doors to close in Malfoy's face when suddenly he felt a weight on him. Panicking - half-asleep, sure he was being attacked - he shouted quite loudly and threw the attacker off.

"Oooow!" Willy moaned as he hit the floor. "What'dja do that for? Ooooow!"

"_Lumos_! What the hell were you DOING?" Severus shouted, standing on his bed and pointing his wand directly at Willy's heart. His hand was shaking slightly; teeth bared, he looked half-mad.

Willy glanced toward the well-loved leather box on Severus' nightstand and said nothing. Severus' eyes narrowed.

"Oi... what's going on? Who's shouting?" somebody mumbled, and a moment later three more wands responded to _Lumos_ and lit the room. Then, because God was against him, the door opened.

"What's all the shouting ?" asked Malfoy sleepily.

Severus was staring at Willy, teeth still bared. Willy stared back.

"Look, I... I just wanted a look, that's all," Willy said in the tone of a well-practiced negotiator. "Nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"Severus - your leg is bleeding," Malfoy pointed out calmly.

It was true. The right leg of his pyjama bottoms had gone brown and was sticking to his skin.

"Probably because this idiot felt the need to CRAWL on me!" Severus snapped viciously, and began stripping immediately, grabbing for his robes.

Malfoy yawned. "Going to the hospital wing now? You'll get in trouble for walking about."

"Shut up," Severus said again, tucking his wand into his robe pocket. He hopped off the bed - narrowing missing Willy, who scuttled out of the way with a squeak - and stalked past Malfoy and out of the room.

"Curiouser and curiouser, said Alice," murmured Malfoy to no one. "Back to bed. All of you. And Willy... whatever you were doing, for Merlin's sake, don't do it again."

* * *

Hogwarts was a different sort of place at four in the morning. No one was around, except for some of the ghosts, and it was only as Severus glowered his way up to the main level that he realized he had no idea where the hospital wing was.

Asking was embarrassing; but then so was waffling around until someone caught him. Now that he was out of his dorm, the realization that he WAS breaking the rules hit him very hard, leaving him with a slightly queasy feeling in his stomach.

Rules were not meant to be broken. Severus had learned that principle before he could even walk, and he always abided by it.

"Got to be here somewhere," he muttered, limping more quietly now that he'd analyzed his situation; and really, why was he out here in the first place? Because Willy had spooked him, he'd lost his temper, been embarrassed, and fled. This wound on his leg was nothing that couldn't wait a couple more hours until morning, but now that he was already out, his pride wouldn't let him go back.

"Damn it," he muttered. "Damn it _all_." He passed a suit of armor that snickered suspiciously at him (he resisted the temptation to blast it into pieces), then hid from an odd, squat ghost who seemed to be fascinated with the effect of bundium secretion on chalk boards. Wishing he knew a good spell to use on ghosts, Severus continued to explore until he found himself in front of a very curious-looking painting.

There was a man on a horse in it. A man who, in spite of the portrait's bewitchment, sat utterly and completely still. He glared out at the world through long, lank, and unruly black hair, hawk-like eyes shining with baleful pride above a similarly hawk-like nose; Severus supposed it fit the theme. The man held something in both his long, strong-looking hands. In the left was a large vial of glowing red liquid, bubbling ominously; in his right was large jar of something that almost looked like molten gold, if molten gold could ever glow that brightly. Behind him rose a dark shape; it seethed. It moved, all on its own. It scared Severus nearly witless, and he had no idea why.

The portrait was titled: _Power to Hold the World._

"Amazing, isn't it?" came a voice from behind him, and Severus whirled, hand clenching the wand in his pocket out of habit. Then, he stared.

It was the new headmaster. The HEADMASTER had caught him out of bed. All was lost.

"I... sir, I can explain!"

"Of course you can, Mr. Snape. I always thought he'd have made such a wonderful schoolmaster, just in terms of the raw authority coming from him, but ah - he chose to be of Walpurgis instead. You can't control another person's destiny, can you?"

What? The man was rambling. "Uh... " Severus glanced around. Nobody else was present; the severe fellow in the portrait ignored them both. Well, at least the headmaster wasn't threatening detention. Maybe he was sleepwalking. Severus glanced around one more time, then decided he might as well push it. His leg was still hurting, after all. "If you please, headmaster, I need the hospital wing."

"Of course you do, Mr. Snape. Chocolate?"

Severus was still staring. "Chocolate?"

"You eat it," replied Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eye. Severus was unused to twinkles, ocular or otherwise, and responded by stepping back a bit.

"No," he said, as though Dumbledore had offered him a virulent orange spider.

"No _thank you,_ Mr. Snape. Come on, then - to the hospital wing we go! But I warn you - Healer Smethwyck will insist on you eating chocolate anyway." With that, he turned and walked down the hall.

Severus had to rush to catch up.

* * *

It seemed that Healer Smethwyck kept odd hours. He was wide awake, although the young woman Severus had seen with him earlier was nowhere to be found.

"Ah, Albus! Good morning, good morning - what's this now?"

"A student, Severus Snape," Dumbledore said, placing one hand on Severus' shoulder; Severus jumped.

Smethwyck peered through half-moon glasses. "And the problem?"

"A variation on a Furnunculus Charm, I do believe," said Dumbledore and, Severus stared at him again. Did EVERYONE know what had happened on the lake? "You'll find it's hit him in the leg."

"That's nothing to joke about," said Smethwyck calmly, and patted one of the examination beds. "Up, Mr. Snape. Let me have a look at you."

Severus wasn't sure what to make of the fact that Dumbledore knew what Black had used. It didn't seem possible; worse yet, once the possibility had been accepted, it opened up a lot more that Severus was simply not ready to handle. What else did the strange man know?

Dumbledore smiled harmlessly.

Severus swallowed, then quietly clambered up onto the bed, his feet dangling; his gaze stayed on the headmaster as Smethwyck lifted his robe - not too high - and began to poke and prod.

"Oh. Mm, this is very bad, yes, you should have come in sooner. I'm going to get you some chocolate, Mr. Snape, and then ask you to lie very still. This is going to hurt a little. In fact... Poppy! Poppy, get out here, I want you to see this!" Adjusting his glasses, Smethwyck wandered off someplace to fetch his assistant. Severus kept his eyes on Dumbledore, suspicious.

Dumbledore smiled. "If you have a question, Mr. Snape, please don't be afraid to ask it. I always encourage questions, myself, even though I don't always encourage answers."

Questions of all kinds tumbled in Severus' head, but he chose to avoid anything remotely personal. He'd heard rumors about this headmaster defeating Grindelwald, or something to that effect. Someone like that knew more than he should, so personal questions weren't safe. "Very well. What was that painting in the hall?" he asked.

Oddly, it seemed that Dumbledore was slightly disappointed in the question he chose. "His name was Veneficus Princeps. He was an ancestor of yours, I do believe."

"What?" What? An ancestor? WHAT?

Smethwyck returned accompanied. "Here he is, Poppy; now, I want you to do what I tell you to, and don't ask questions." The young woman - about twenty, if Severus was thinking clearly - approached him with professional calm and lifted his robe all the way to inspect the injury. Severus blushed. Ignoring Smethwyck's quiet instructions, he looked away from the woman to stare at the headmaster.

"Uh - ancestor? From the Continent?" Severus asked to draw attention away from the woman prodding his thighs.

"Why yes, he was," Dumbledore said, his eyes sparkling again as he studied the stone above Severus' head with great fascination. "And Veneficus was a very, very powerful wizard. Unfortunately, he was also very dark - " he paused while Severus winced, eyes closing tightly at the sudden, burning pain in his leg, " - but a most interesting fellow, nevertheless. From what I understand, your family has continued to have an unusual ability with potions, isn't that true?"

"Ah," Severus said, holding absolutely still. It felt as though they were stripping his muscle through the skin. "Y... yes," he said in a smaller voice, and breathed through clenched teeth.

"Your mother certainly showed a talent for it. Tell me, has she made any effort to continue her work?"

This conversation was surreal. Severus pictured his mother, miserable and hiding away in their house. "Not... really," he gasped, and clenched his fists. He focused on Dumbledore's voice, rather than the pain which was making his eyes tear up. For some reason, it seemed to help.

"That's rather sad," Dumbledore said sincerely, and took a piece of chocolate. "I'd hoped she would do so much more with her life. Again - you cannot control another's choices. You know what I'm talking about, don't you, Mr. Snape?" He popped it into his mouth.

"Yeah," Severus said in a voice suspiciously like a squeak, and then went limp with an exhausted sigh. Poppy had finished; the pain was suddenly, surprisingly gone.

Poppy was holding up something in a large pair of tweezers, something wire-like and glowing; whatever it was, it was twisting slightly.

"Vicious, vicious thing," she muttered to herself, and took it into the other room to dispose of it.

"Rather creative for a Furnunculus, I MUST say," Smethwyck commented dryly, eyeing Severus as if suspicious. "I've seen it before, but not terribly often - "

"Now, Hippocrates, don't guess," Dumbledore chided lightly. "It won't be cast again by the person who cast it, at any rate."

Smethwyck glanced at Dumbledore doubtfully for a moment, then looked back at Severus and prodded his bandage. "You'll be all right in a few hours, Mr. Snape," he said, pulling Severus' robe back down. "I'd suggest you skip your first class and stay here."

"No. No, I won't skip any classes," Severus snarled, as though Smethwyck had opined he ought to kill his mother.

"You have to," Smethwyck snapped in return, frowning slightly. Then he stiffened, unprepared for the fury in Severus' eyes.

"No. I WON'T stay in here!" Severus insisted, sitting halfway up; Smethwyck pushed him back down.

"Do I have to spell you?" he threatened vaguely, and Severus bared his teeth.

"He certainly should be well enough to go to class, Hippocrates," Dumbledore intervened gently. Severus and Smethwyck both looked at him.

The doctor sighed. "All right, all right; but he's sleeping until then, you understand?"

"Yes, of course - we should all be, really, but I do sometimes like my walks before dawn," Dumbledore said, and stood. He smiled. "I find one tends to think best then. Rest well, Mr. Snape; I'll see you in beginning transfiguration." And with that, he turned and left.

Smethwyck eyed him. "Sleep," he ordered, and also left.

Severus sighed and closed his eyes. He was finally alone. Relieved and feeling almost safe for the first time since he'd arrived at Hogwarts, Severus abandoned all heavy thought and fell asleep.

He dreamed of chocolate.


	2. Chapter Two

** A Matter of Malevolence, Part Two **

The day was dawning bright, clear, and chilly, frosting the plants outside the greenhouse and sending a heady steam up from the lake. The giant squid could be seen playing in it like a child in a puddle outside the windows in the halls, but Severus wasn't watching the squid. He had other things on his mind.

Once Smethwyck set him free from the medical wing, Severus hurried back to his room to get his books and try to get to class before it was too late. Of course, he'd missed breakfast; his stomach warned him in no uncertain terms that it was hungry, but he ignored that, as well.

He was gratified to see that all of his possessions were still in order. There were no other students in there at the moment, and that to him was a bonus. Utterly pleased at the way this day was going, Severus snatched his books and nearly failed to notice that his pajamas - folded neatly on his bed - were clean.

He stared. "House elves," he muttered hopefully, a little nonplussed at the violation of his privacy. Hoisting his worn leather bag over his shoulder, he hurried back out of the dungeons and toward the Transfiguration classroom. He knew quite well where it was. The ghost had been busily smearing bundium secretion on the chalkboard the previous night.

"The principles of Transfiguration are really basic to the understanding of all of magic," came a voice from the classroom as Severus raced through the hall.

_No_. No, no, no, no, NO. Class had already started; he was late. His first chance to make a good impression with authority had been blown. Upset, keeping his head low and wishing he could be invisible, Severus stepped through the door.

He froze. So that's what the headmaster had meant by "see you in beginning Transfiguration."

Dumbledore was standing at the front of the room, smiling at everyone. As the new headmaster, Dumbledore was not supposed to be teaching any classes, so what he was doing up there was a mystery to Severus. Startled, Severus clutched his bookbag in front of him like a shield and stared. The entire class stared back.

The headmaster beamed at him. "Hello, Mr. Snape! I'm glad to see Healer Smethwyck released you in time for class. Have a seat right there, please." Mortified, Severus did. He still felt as though people were staring at the back of his head.

"As I was saying, Transfiguration is really nothing more than knowing what you want to do and having the will and the tools to make it happen," Dumbledore continued. "Of course, it can be dangerous. There is nothing in life that cannot be, so we are going to start VERY simply, but once you have the basics down, you're going to find that more difficult transfigurations are merely an extension of that will and those tools. Are we clear so far? Wonderful!" Dumbledore clapped his hands together as though delighted. "Who has their textbooks?"

Severus did not raise his hand. However, he was pulling his textbook out of his bag, and as he looked up, Dumbledore caught his eye. Dumbledore smiled and opened his mouth, and Severus somehow knew the headmaster was going to ask him to read from it.

_No. No, please don't_, Severus begged silently. Dumbledore paused; there was an odd moment of silence as they studied one another, and Severus shivered. He had the unnerving feeling that Dumbledore was reading his mind. The older man smiled, gave Severus a little nod as though conceding a point, and turned to a young lady on the other side of the room.

"Miss Evans, would you be good enough to read the first two paragraphs of chapter two? That should help those members of the class who haven't yet comprehended me to understand what I'm saying." Severus relaxed as Evans read the paragraphs, which basically reiterated exactly what the headmaster had said.

There was more theory, and then the class attempted to transfigure their matchsticks into needles. Severus came close; his matchstick grew very pointy and hard, but did not quite reach the epitome of sewing element he was aiming for. A few children managed to make theirs perfect needles, but many more achieved nothing at all. Severus was squarely in the middle.

Hm. Not great; not terrible. Severus analyzed his own performance and decided he could do better.

"I don't get it," said a voice behind him. Severus looked back to find Abbott behind him, appearing utterly perplexed and near tears. "Why isn't it working? I don't understand."

"Don't get what? It's simple enough to understand. Just carrying it out is difficult," Severus muttered, not commenting on Abbott's matchstick - which was not only still very like a matchstick, but now looked suspicious as though it had been soaked.

"I don't get it at all," whimpered Abbott, who then gave Severus a look of such helplessness that Severus mildly panicked.

"_I_ can't help you," he said quickly with wide eyes, and just then, Dumbledore raised his hands.

"That's enough, everyone. That was a very good effort! I can tell all of you are going to be very good at this subject. Now, don't worry about getting results right away. What I wanted to see from you was that you tried, and you have! Wonderful. Now, for your homework, I would like you to finish reading chapter two and bring in a short essay on it - about three inches should do."

There were the obligatory murmurs and whines at this statement, but Severus made no sound. He was too busy being worried that Abbott was going to do... something.

"Now, off you go! I hope you do as well in your next classes as you have in this one," proclaimed Dumbledore cheerfully, and without waiting to see what was going to happen next, Severus tucked his textbook under one arm, snatched his quill and notes with his fingertips and flung his bag over his shoulder. In half a second, he was at the door. Unfortunately, he did not make it through. Something - someone - tripped him.

Severus was moving quickly enough that he did not have time to recover himself, and as he went down, the absurd thought crossed his mind that he was going to break his textbook and did not have money to buy a new one. So he did the only thing he could: he turned his body into the fall, cradling the book against his chest, and let his shoulder take the brunt.

Laughter shot up to the ceiling. "Careful there, you're in a bit of a rush," said Potter, who stepped over him as though he were a higher than usual threshhold. "Hurry like that and you're bound to have an accident."

"Watch it," added Black, who opted instead to lean down and snag Severus' arm as he passed, yanking him roughly to his feet. "A word of advice? You should really think about washing your hair. Also, git, you're blocking the _door_." He released Severus' arm with a tiny shove, then laughed again. There was something contagious about Black's laugh; many of the students in the hall, coming from various classrooms, laughed right along with him. Suddenly, there were people watching. Potter was very aware of them; so was Black, and so was Severus. Each reacted in different ways.

Potter and Black looked at each other. They grinned.

To the watching, laughing students, Potter stuck his hands in his robe pockets and gave a charmingly crooked smile. "Oops?" he said with a shrug - and tripped Severus again as the smaller boy tried to get away.

The hallway echoed with laughter. Horrified, Severus stuffed his spilled books back into his bag, gathering them in his arms so quickly he crumpled his note parchment. He hurried away from all the attention, all the laughter, all the hateful stares of other _people_, as fast as his legs could go.

He missed the grin Potter and Black gave to their appreciative audience. He missed Dumbledore watching with a thoughtful look, silent and analytical. He missed everything else, but he swore he could feel their gazes on his back as he fled.

* * *

The rest of the week became an exaggerated and slow race worthy of an Aesop's fable. The Slytherin and Gryffindor houses shared an unholy number of classes together, and as the days progressed, Severus could actually SEE Potter and Black bonding over the bizarre fun of hurting him.

Tuesday in flying lessons, Black somehow smacked Severus' broom so it flipped him off and went zipping away toward the Forbidden Forest.

Wednesday in Potions, Potter elbowed Severus so he dropped all his dandelion roots into his cauldron at once, ruining what would have otherwise been an outstanding potion.

Thursday, in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Black did something to the horned lizard as Severus' turn came to study it, causing the creature to fly screeching out the window and spray broken glass everywhere. In response, Severus set Black's bookbag on fire. The teacher promptly took five points - from Slytherin.

Five points. Five. _Points_. Now, this was war.

By Friday afternoon, Severus had progressed to the point that his hand was almost constantly on his wand. He had to be careful; Potter and Black seemed to possess the uncanny power of avoiding trouble while landing him squarely in it, so he knew he could not look to authority for help. Besides, he saw how authority looked at them.

It liked them. Teachers, both male and female, liked them. Authority liked Potter's easy humor and Black's roguish charm. It liked the ease (SUCH ease!) with which both Potter and Black were already sailing through most of their classes and drawing other first years to themselves like fawning magnets. It liked how good they looked in their Gryffindor colors as they laughed and ran, played and worked, and shot Severus smiles promising pain.

And there was pain. So, so much pain.

It was obvious to Severus at least that these two did not know the curses he did. Their pranks were childish, brutish and stupid - though still quite humiliating - and if it came down to one-on-one, Severus knew he would be the victor. The problem was, it was never one-on-one.

It was Potter and Black, Black and Potter. The two were addicted to each other's shadow, with Potter leading and Black following after, and Severus' reactions only seemed to spur them on. Potter would distract him, and Black would curse, or Black would push him, and Potter would curse. Potter disliked him; so, naturally, Black did, too. There didn't even seem to be a reason, and to Severus' growing anger, neither one of them was ever alone.

He had to get his own back, had to recover control, supremacy, show them, _teach_ them to go away. He just had to be careful how he did it or he was going to be in even more trouble. It was already clear to him that he would receive no leniency from the teachers.

Five points. Five. Points.

He was going to take those points out of their hides.

* * *

By dinnertime Friday evening, nearly every student in first year knew there was a war. Bets were being taken in the halls; the odds were heavily in the Gryffindors' favor, although even Severus had a small undercurrent of student support. Potter and Black had engendered no delusions regarding the potential for explosion between them. As most other students made plans for fun with a little room for homework over the weekend, Severus made plans for battle.

The whole situation was absurd. What was he supposed to do, spend more time avoiding the jackasses than he did on his homework? They'd cost him five points already, and he had no idea how to earn them back. Who knew what was in store for him next?

Severus settled into his seat and poked his Yorkshire pudding. Malfoy was watching him, but that was irrelevant. He had more important things to worry about now.

He glanced over to the Gryffindor table, where Potter and Black (and others; it seemed they'd picked up a gang of simpering hangers-on) were clearly enjoying themselves and occasionally glancing toward him. Plans, plans, plans; he was sure they were making plans, and unlike them, he had no one to bounce his own against. The many against the one, that's what this was; clutching his silverware, Severus felt sick.

Malfoy was still watching him as he tried to think; it was annoying. There were far more important things happening right now than the curiosity of one bloody fool of a prefect.

One thing Severus did know was that in order to have any kind of effective revenge, he was going to have to find a way to get them alone. It had to be Potter OR Black, rather than both at the same time. Visibly, this was impossible; the two boys all but shared the same shoes. How to separate them was a prime concern. Obviously, it couldn't happen during classtime, but maybe after classes, or between them...

Malfoy. Was still. _Watching_. Oh, it was a subtle watching. Half under his lashes, half sidelong looks as he conversed with someone else, Malfoy's version of playing spy might have been too subtle for some people to catch, but Severus was sharply aware. Stubbornly, he tried to keep ignoring.

To get them alone, he'd have to... he'd have to... to... Oh, bloody hell, it was useless.

"DAMNIT, Malfoy!" Severus suddenly snarled, slamming his silverware down with such ire that he marked the table. The Slytherins around him jumped, startled.

Chin on his hands, Malfoy smiled. "Hm? What is it, Severus?"

"My name is SNAPE," Severus hissed, and got up from the table. His own house was looking at him now as though he'd gone insane, but he did not care.

"Severus."

He stopped. This was his prefect, he told himself, and he had to listen to the prefect. He couldn't just curse the snot over his shoulder and run. Stay calm.

"I want to talk to you later," Malfoy's voice floated through the din, and Severus hunched his shoulders. "Don't go to sleep right off, hm?"

No, there was no good response to this. At least, none that would not involve making a fool of himself. Fists clenched and head down, Severus hurried out of the Great Hall and into the silence of the corridors with the relief of a cook from a hot kitchen stepping into cool night air.

Silence. Bliss. Solitude. Severus felt his irrittation at Malfoy at last slip away. So what if he'd had no dinner? It was much, much better out here, alone.

Speaking of alone... how WAS one to split up the dream team?

It definitely would not happen during classtime. The more Severus thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion that only a ruse would do, and that was dangerous, because he'd only be able to use that ruse once. Gods, why did everything have to be so complicated -

"Hey. Snape."

Severus knew that voice. He whirled in place to find Potter - Potter _alone_ - smirking at him just past the doors into the Great Hall. His heart leapt into his throat.

"What do you want, Potter?" he spat, wand in hand, looking past his enemy into the shadows for Black's inevitable presence.

"Just thought you'd like to know that we've decided we'll leave you alone if you apologize," Potter said, and shrugged.

This took a moment to sink in. Severus stopped looking for Black, locking his eyes with Potter insead. The boy really was alone. ALONE. It was crowding out all his other thoughts. "What?"

"Apologize. You know. To Lupin."

Lupin? Who the hell was Lupin? "What on earth are you talking about, Potter?" Severus snarled. Nobody else was here. Everyone was at dinner. They really, truly, were _alone_.

"Aw, come on, Snape," Potter was saying. He uncrossed his arms and approached. "Look, it's all been bloody fun, but we're at school now, right? We're supposed to be moving on, growing up, all of that stuff, and while we all enjoy poking you a little, there's no reason to let this get out of hand. We've all discussed it. Nobody's asking you to do dance naked or anything. Just give Lupin the apology you owe him for the thing you did to his eyes and we're square. That's all we want," he said, and he smiled, as though he were being absolutely magnaminous.

Was this imbecile serious? He wanted an APOLOGY? There was no apology forthcoming, Severus noted, for the Furnuculus curse, or the fists in his back, or the noxious things thrown into his potion (the jockstrap was really too much). No apology from POTTER, oh no; just one expected from him, and to a boy who barely had anything to do with this at all.

Severus was scowling. "You're insane," he informed Potter, knuckles white as he clenched his wand. "An apology?" he demanded. "For defending myself?"

Potter's smile disappeared as though hit with a vanishing spell. "Defending yourself? You call cursing an innocent kid 'defending yourself' because somebody made fun of how you LOOKED? You disgust me, Snape."

Severus inhaled through his teeth and looked murderous.

Potter wasn't finished speaking. "It goes against my better judgment, but I'm still offering you that out. Take it, Snape. Do the smart thing and take it. Because if you don't, I promise you you'll have hell to pay."

Hell to pay? HELL to PAY? Hadn't he already BEEN paying hell? In that instant, Severus hated Potter. Hated the smugness, the superiority, hated everything about him down to the last unruly hair on his head, and when Severus hated a thing, he acted on it.

"I'll never apologize," he hissed, crooked teeth bared. "Not to him - and never to YOU! _Fragminis!_" The breaking spell shot from his wand with all the force his hatred and anger could muster, and that was exactly the moment Black chose to attack.

_Of course he was here, of COURSE he wasn't gone_, Severus thought vaguely as Black slammed into him, sending his wand arm up and the spell wide. Potter, wide-eyed, ducked, but he hadn't needed to; the curse cracked into the wall well over his head and ricocheted up at a crazy angle, leaving a fist-sized hole behind.

"Look out!" Potter shouted unnecessarily as Black wrestled Severus' wand away from him. It wasn't difficult; Black had knocked the wind out of him by tackling to the floor, and was currently sitting on his chest.

Black snarled and threw Severus' wand into the corner. "I TOLD you the - "

"LOOK!" Potter exclaimed, and pointed.

Severus' errant spell had flown high, high up to the top of the hall, and hit with frightening precision at the base of a large statue of Godric Gryffindor. As all three boys stared at it with open mouths, a small chunk of stone cracked loose and fell to the hall floor.

"Oh, hell," Black said, and rolled off Severus quickly to get out of the way. Severus was right behind him. Another cracking sound, another piece of granite, and Godric tilted alarmingly.

With perfectly hideous timing, students and teachers began streaming from the dinner hall.

Severus and his two most-hated stared at the oncoming students, then back up at Godric, who was now canted at a sharp angle and visibly beginning to fall. Professor McGonagall, unseeing, frowned at the three boys piled at the end of the hall.

"Here, now," she said sharply, and came toward them. "What are you three doing? Why weren't you at dinner?"

Severus could see Godric's shadow over her head as it silently, smoothly slipped off its base and fell. Oh gods. He'd killed a teacher. She was going to die. There was no time to do anything -

"LOOK OUT!" cried Potter suddenly, crazily, and he raced toward McGonagall with a speed that seemed impossibly quick and yet too slow, too SLOW, just a little too SLOW -

McGonagall stared at him; Godric's shadow around her grew larger, and Potter slammed bodily into her and knocked her back just as the enormous statue came crashing to the ground.

Screams erupted everywhere. Dust exploded from the ruined sculpture; the sound it had made was still echoing. Coughing, Severus brought his sleeve over his face to breathe.

Had they made it? Was the teacher okay?

"JAMES!" Black cried, his voice ragged, and shoved off Severus so quickly he flipped him over. Racing toward the wreckage, Black scrambled over the pieces of stone, calling Potter's name over and over as he tried to find him. "James! James, ANSWER m - oh gods. Thank you."

The dust finally cleared, and there, between the two halves of Godric's head, Severus could see both Potter and McGonagall. They were pale, covered in dust, and unharmed.

Relief like Severus had never known flooded him. Then, sharply on its heels, came terror. Two people knew why that statue had come down. Both had seen; neither would take credit for how bad Severus' aim had been. Yet as people crowded around and fussed over McGonagal and Potter, the hero, the incredibly suicidal IDIOT who'd risked his life, the inevitable pointing and staring that Severus expected did not come to pass

Everyone from dinner was in the hallway now, teachers and students alike. Everyone seemed to be talking at once; the statue was being slowly put back together by the charms teacher, and both the headmaster and Smethwycke were dutifully seeing that Potter and McGonagall were all right.

Everyone was ignoring him. Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, Severus stood. Had he gotten away with this? Somehow? Were _they_ really going to miss this opportunity to point him out as the cause of this disaster?

Yes. They were. As Severus watched, Potter and Black both explained some story or other with tense, excitable gestures, but nothing they said caused anybody to look toward him. A minute passed; then two. Still, nobody came for him.

But there were two people who looked his way when nobody else was paying attention. There were two people whose eyes, matching pools of coldness, anger, and hatred, found his and promised the trouble that would come. Black and Potter were through playing the magnaminous lords.

Severus had not gotten away with this at all. The punishment would just be coming from somewhere other than recognized authority.

Retrieving his wand from the corner, Severus stowed it in his pocket and hurried past the still-screaming, shrieking, shouting fools of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with every intention of hiding in his room. He could feel Potter's and Black's eyes on him as long as he remained in the hall.

This war was far from over. On the contrary; it only had just begun.

* * *

Part Two - A Different Point of View, I 

He just couldn't understand what the problem was. Was Snape just stupid? It was a valid question. Even though Snape seemed to do pretty well in the few quizzes and other tests they'd had so far, his behavior still made no sense. Regardless, James had almost decided it was no longer any use thinking about it. After all, there were games to play.

"Catch it!" somebody shouted, and James threw himself to the side to snag the quaffle before it landed. It felt so natural to be moving like this, to be one with the earth and the air and raw energy all over; grinning like a wild thing, he slung his arm back and twisted himself around in mid-air, heaving the quaffle back toward Sirius before landing in the wet grass.

"Woohoo!" somebody else cheered, and James laughed as Sirius grabbed the ball before running toward the goal. Quidditch without brooms; who'd have ever thought such a thing would be fun? They weren't allowed to use school brooms, and since first years couldn't bring their own, the boys were a bit limited in what they could do for sports.

Sirius scored. The six boys playing on the field all cheered, regardless of team, and James scrambled to his feet and jogged toward his friends.

"Good one, mate!" Remus said as James approached, patting him on the back congenially. Remus was always congenial. A nicer kid just didn't exist.

"Thanks," said James with a grin. The whole lot of them were covered in mud and breathing hard; it was absolutely delicious. "Think we got time for another round, mates?"

Everybody pondered, talked, joyfully argued, but in the end it was Remus who held sway.

"No thanks, guys," Remus said, not speaking loudly; his voice, representing Reason, usually carried. "We all have homework to do tonight. Come on, let's go back in and do it; we can play again tomorrow."

Eh, the kid was right. The light was nearly gone anyway, and it wasn't so easy to play this game in the dark. The quaffle tended to end up in the lake.

"All right. See you guys tomorrow!" James agreeing with Remus was the unspoken sign. Everyone waved, laughed, and - picking up their bookbags and wands - began the trek back toward the castle.

James breathed deeply and looked up, watching the stars appear slowly as the sun sank away. He felt wonderful. Strong; young. Good. The world was a terrific place.

"Finally got the chance to talk to you alone," muttered Sirius next to him, pulling James' gaze back down to earth.

"Yeah," said James, and slowly, alone, they walked toward home.

"I think Snape was really trying to kill you." Sirius sounded sure; very grim, very serious. His brow knit and his eyes locked onto the shadowed path in front of them.

"I don't know," admitted James, his hands in his pockets. "We're kids, Sirius. I know he meant to hurt me. He's a vicious little git. But kill me? Over an APOLOGY?" He could still see Remus' small form up ahead, just entering the castle. The kid seemed dwarfed by his bookbag; he was no threat. What had he ever done to deserve the treatment he'd gotten?

"Kill you," repeated Sirius, his belief completely unshaken. "Whatever that curse was he used - and I've never even heard of it before - it broke the WALL. It broke the STATUE. It would have broken you." Sirius looked at his friend - his new friend, yes, but somehow they were already close in a way he hadn't known was possible, in a way his family had told him wasn't possible. Sirius was beginning to doubt a lot of the things his family had taught him.

This, however, he did not doubt: Snape had meant to kill James.

James sighed. "Yeah," he finally said, maybe just acknowledging Sirius, maybe agreeing with him. It was hard to tell. "Well, I guess at least we can't say we didn't give him a chance. Because we did." He shook his head. "All we asked him to do was say he was sorry."

"He never will," opined Sirius, looking up toward the castle.

Ugh. He was probably right. Snape was insane; there was just something WRONG with the kid, something that involved the Dark Arts. Whatever that something was, simply talking wasn't going to make it right. Maybe nothing was.

For a moment, James' mind wandered to the events on the train.

_" - cursed him, he cursed him!"_ _"What HAPPENED?"_ _Chaos on the train. Just some simple joking, just joking AROUND, and it suddenly became an issue of wands and then the small greasy boy with the big nose was shouting something and Remus was screaming and - _

James closed his eyes for a moment and shuddered. That was simply hell; no one expected to come up against dark magic like that, not at the age of eleven. Maybe not ever.

Of course, they'd fought back; what else could they do? Nobody had done anything bad, and suddenly this idiot had people screaming.

Dark Arts; there was dark magic being used. Unforgivable.

His fists worked where his wand did not. Immediately, the attacker was subdued, and then, oh then, it should have been over, but it was not. When it was time to get in the boats, somehow the four who ended up together were himself, Sirius, Pettigrew... and Snape.

It had been nobody's fault. The teacher at the dock had mashed them all together.

For all James knew, it was based on weight; or maybe they were put in one boat because they were supposed to work out their differences. All he knew was that as the boat pushed off, Snape was looking at them all like he'd sink the boat just to see them drown, and... well. Perhaps he'd overreacted.

_"Don't try anything," James growled under his breath. His wand was already out, and so was Sirius'. Sirius was a quick study._ _Snape scowled as if it were their fault. "Fuck off," he said, with such casual hostility that it was obvious he swore on a regular basis. _ _All three boys stared at him._ _"WHAT did you say?" gaped Sirius. _ _"I said fuck off," reiterated Snape, looking smug now as if he'd won a point. "Or are you too stupid to know what your mothers had to do to conceive you?" _ _"You little PRICK!" shouted Sirius, shocked, and did the first thing that came to mind. Abandoning his wand, he socked Snape across the face._ _"You. Take. That. BACK," he growled, shocked at the smaller boy's crudity._ _Snape did no such thing. Instead, he pointed his wand and started cursing._ _James had no time to think; he cast a "Furnuculus" the same time Sirius cast "Incarcerous," and the ending result of both spells hitting at once was some sort of glowing... wire... THING that burrowed into Snape's leg and sent him screaming overboard - _ _- but not before his "Battuo!" hit James squarely in the stomach and knocked HIM overboard as well with a splash. _ _"James!" cried Sirius, clambering over Pettigrew, who did nothing but cringe and whimper. The splashes and cries brought the teacher over quickly, shouting orders and trying to get both Snape and James fished out of the icy cold water, and not a moment too soon. _ _James was in shock; he had just had a real life wizard's duel, and he wasn't sure if he'd won or lost._

He still wasn't sure. Winning and losing really didn't mean so much when you were possibly dealing with defending your life; right and wrong did. James knew - KNEW - that he'd done nothing wrong; just as strongly, he knew that Snape had done nothing right.

The Dark Arts were involved. That was all that mattered.

Snape was bad, bad news, and he - James - had still tried to offer him mercy. That wasn't bad; Snape's response was. James felt no guilt about what he said next.

"Sirius, old boy," he said, companionably holding the door open for his friend. "I do believe the war is definitely on." Grinning because he had friends who fought with him (and who could lose when you had THAT), James entered Hogwarts with nothing but a song in his heart.


	3. Chapter Three

** A Matter of Malevolence, Part Three **

" -did you SEE the look - "

" -on his clothes, I've never seen so much dust - "

" -in the hall and then there was this SOUND - "

Severus stuffed his pillow over his head and tried to ignore them.

" -saved his mother's life last year - "

" -when the ministry started fighting the rise of the Dark Lord - "

" -coming from Potter, and HE says that he didn't even hesitate - "

Severus gathered his books and left the library, avoiding the infuriating whispers.

" -so strong for his age - "

" -so quick they're talking about Quidditch in the next couple of years - "

" -to do something like that, I tell you, that is brave!"

"Ugh!" That word, which was Severus' opinion on the whole debacle, punctuated his next action: moving stiffly and with his teeth slightly bared, he stuffed as many books into his bag as he could and stormed outside the school toward the lake. Perhaps there he could get some peace.

It just went on and on. Around every corner, at every mealtime, throughout the dorms, the infamous James Potter and his Selfless Acts of Heroism were apparently all anybody could talk about. By day two, Severus was already tired of it. By day three, he was ready to start cursing people. Oh, he could admit that there were pros and cons to this problem. The good side was that nobody was talking about him, which meant Black and Potter had not blabbed. The bad side was that nobody was talking about him, which meant Black and Potter had a truly terrible revenge planned.

Frowning, Severus sat underneath one of the few trees growing close to the water and took out his textbooks. Black and Potter had not done anything to him at all since Friday. They'd given quiet, baleful glares that promised hours of torment in the future, but so far neither one had so much as ruined his homework. This abrupt good behavior seemed more broodingly dangerous than outright threats. Scowling at his useless potions textbook, Severus picked up _A History of Magic _instead and tried to concentrate.

What were they up to? What? Would they wait until the fervor died down so no one would see them do it, or were they waiting for it to peak so that when they did, they'd have approval? He didn't want to give too much credit to the Gryffindor mind; prowess of planning was clearly not their forte. Yet there was a sort of keen animal instinct combined with luck that seemed time and time again to provide them with JUST the angle they needed to -

"Hello there."

Severus jumped. He'd been lost in thought for far too long; standing over him with hands in his pockets and a maddening smirk stood Lucius Malfoy.

"Oh," said Severus. "It's you."

Malfoy smiled. "It is, indeed. Do you have a moment?"

"No. Go away." Severus turned back to his reading. _History of Magic_? Why had he picked that up? Putting it aside, he picked up _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ instead.

Softly, Malfoy chuckled and scissored gracefully down into the grass. "Are you ready to talk yet? Or do you still dislike me for no apparent reason?"

Severus glared and ignored the loaded question. "I loathe you. Let me be."

Malfoy laughed outright. "Well, I like _you_, Severus Snape," he said as he lay back and propped himself on one elbow. "You're very amusing. And you're bright, too; do you know, I heard some of the professors talking about you yesterday. You're puzzling them. It seems you have an uneven - "

"They were talking about me?" interrupted Severus, sounding horrified.

Malfoy arched one perfect eyebrow. "Hush. Don't interrupt." He tossed his hair and looked over the lake. "As I was saying: they're puzzled because you seem to be an uneven sort of individual. Anything that's just brain work, you've got; anything with wand work, you've sort of got. Potions, you're top of your class; but put you on a broom and you fall flat on your face."

Oh, gods. They HAD been talking about him. For a sharp, miserable moment, Severus felt as though he'd been betrayed.

Sidelong, Malfoy watched. His voice was warm, conversational - but his eyes were cold. "Why does that bother you?" he finally said.

"Because it's not their affair," Severus, replied very quietly.

"Seems like it is to me. They _are_ your teachers," Malfoy drawled pleasantly.

"It isn't."

Malfoy looked very amused. "It is. And, because I'm your prefect, it's mine, too. So - what are we going to do to fix your little problem?"

"What little problem? Leave me alone and I'll fix it myself," snapped Severus. Then, because he was feeling defensive, he shifted around the tree trunk so his back was facing Malfoy. This put him directly in the sunlight, which he did not like, but it was better than facing the prat.

There was a long moment of silence.

"Did that really help?" Malfoy finally asked.

Severus could feel those grey eyes on his back. "No. You're still there," he admitted, squinting as the sun turned the book's pages a blinding white.

"That's right, Severus," Malfoy confirmed, and stood up, dusting himself off. "And I'll continue to be. Right behind you. Whether you think you need it or not. And as soon as you've made up your mind to stop being stupid, I'll help you; but for now, I have better things to do than listen to a child vent his anger at me for no reason other than offense at my attempt to be friendly. Have a good day." With that, he left. Severus said nothing in his wake; somehow, the older boy's words had shamed him.

* * *

Severus was late to dinner on purpose. When he finally arrived, everyone else was already in the Great Hall, as he'd hoped; they were all talking at once, and the noise was abominable. Moving quickly and keeping his head down, Severus slipped into the last seat at his house table just as Dumbledore stood.

"Everyone, if I could please have your attention!" the headmaster said, both hands raised as he smiled. He waited until the cacophony died down before continuing. "There are a few changes coming your way, and we, the staff, feel that you should be made aware." He smiled cheerfully. "Of course you know the basics; stay away from the Forbidden Forest because it will kill you. Don't go wandering off school grounds if you value your lives. And now, something new: stay away from the Whomping Willow or it will smash you into jam!"

Students gaped at him.

"The Whomping Willow is going to be freshly planted down by the lake some time tomorrow, so consider yourselves warned," Dumbledore continued happily, as if describing dessert. "And that is enough morbidity for now. Enjoy your feast!" He clapped his hands once, and food made its appearance.

The entire hall burst into wild speculation.

Severus continued to stare at the High Table, thinking what many others were saying out loud. Whomping Willow? What the hell was a Whomping Willow, and why, if the thing was so dangerous, were they planting it on the grounds? "This place is insane," he informed his Cornish hen, but the hen had no reply. Distracted, he cut into it. So now there were Whomping Willows and guileful Gryffindors and homework to deal with, too. For a while, Severus ate in silence, and ignored the entire world. Eventually, he looked up and found that the world was ignoring him back.

Malfoy wasn't looking at him anymore; since their conversation down by the lake, the older boy had apparently decided to eschew Severus' existence. Similarly, the rest of his house diligently spoke and joked in any direction except the one he occupied. All of them had come together in pairs or small groups, talking, laughing, and sharing, and in the midst of this, it seemed that Severus had managed in one week to accomplish exactly one thing: all of them had learned to leave him alone.

So why wasn't he happy?

Soon, his chicken was gone. Poking at his green beans, Severus listened to the snippets of conversation around him, as usual waiting to see if his name cropped up; as usual, it did not. Potter's did, but thinking about that made him feel like sending the chicken back. No one looked at him. No one spoke to him. No one even tried. Before dessert came, Severus grabbed his bags and left the table, knowing no one would care he was gone. He didn't want dessert, anyway. He was going to the library. Severus wanted to be alone, truly alone.

That kind of alone was better than watching other people being happy.

* * *

The library held a kind of quiet comfort for him. Usually, the only other people there were people like him: quiet, unassuming, and wishing to learn without disturbances. It was a silent communion, but the only one Severus really had, and he valued it.

The fact that the others were mostly Ravenclaws only bothered him a little.

Finding a chair with nobody near, he settled into it and opened his books. Two hours passed; here in peace and quiet, he sped through _Magical Drafts and Potions_ (not that that book was EVER difficult), completed his History of Magic assginment, and had driven his way through fully half his Herbology homework when a voice from the shelf in front of him grabbed his attention.

"We found the grimoire."

Well, what was this now? Severus knew all about grimoires, although he'd never seen one. Old, valuable books, usually of extremely dubious origin, grimoires contained dark and powerful magicks, and Severus knew for a fact that no student could possibly dream of laying hands on one. Perhaps he'd misheard. He turned back to his homework, determined to focus.

"Where?"

"Well... okay, we haven't found IT, exactly. But we did find out where it is."

"Where, where?" There were three voices, it seemed, one with information and two with questions. Severus frowned, beginning to wonder if he'd heard correctly after all.

"Somewhere near that picture of the fellow with the hawk nose and the potions."

What? _What?_

"Ah, yes! _Power to Hold the World_. Ground floor, third corridor. Right? "

Severus felt the color drain from his face. His mind split evenly into two. Analytically, he noted the students' cockiness and attention to detail; they were Ravenclaws, he was sure of it. Emotionally, he felt half thrilled and half sick. What did THEY have to do with a portrait of HIS ancestor?

"Right! So what do we do?"

A very good question. Severus put his book down.

"I don't know. That's all I've been able to get out of the Grey Lady so far; but she said there are more clues to come, and she'll keep giving them to us once we've figured out the last puzzle."

"All right." There were sounds of bookbags being opened, quills being taken out, parchment rustling. "Let's see, let's see... okay, the first thing we're going to do is review. Ready?" There was murmured assent, and then the speaker read.

_"It bears thee many a mile away,  
And yet its place it changes ne'er;  
It has no pinions to display,  
And yet conducts thee through the air. _

_"It is the bark of swiftest motion  
That every weary wanderer bore;  
With speed of thought the greatest ocean  
It carries thee in safety o'er;  
One moment wafts thee to the shore._"

...what the hell?

The book with an energetic _fap_. "Okay, troops. And that one is?" said the voice Severus thought of as their leader, and altogether, the others chimed in: "A telescope!"

"Good!" exclaimed the leader, and apparently put that aside.

A telescope? What? How the blazes did they get "telescope" out of that?

The leader read on.

_"Once I was water, full of scaly fish;  
But, by a new decision, Fate has changed  
My nature: having suffered fiery pangs,  
I now gleam white, like ashes or bright snow._"

"Salt!" answered the students with one voice again, and now they were chuckling, caught up in the pure joy of solving these riddles.

Severus was baffled. There weren't enough clues in the poem itself to answer the question it posed; ridiculous. How were they figuring it out?

"Okay, troops," said the leader once more. "This is the latest one.

_"We are little airy Creatures,  
All of diff'rent Voice and Features,  
One of us in Glass is set,  
One of us you'll find in Jet,  
T'other you may see in Tin,  
And the fourth a Box within,  
If the fifth you should pursue,  
It can never fly from You." _

There was silence.

"Anybody found anything yet?" prompted the leader.

Variations of "no," met this query, the students sounding fairly despondent. Severus was nearly pulling his hair out in fistfulls. What on _earth..._

The leader sighed. "Well, bother it all," he said, and Severus quite agreed. Curiosity was getting the better of his good sense; standing and moving as quietly as he could, he shifted over to the bookshelf and peeked between the volumes.

Six children sat before him.

The oldest seemed about fifteen or sixteen; the youngest looked his own age, although in this case, it was a little hard to tell. All of them were a bit undersize. There were three girls and three boys; four of them wore glasses, and all of them had bookbags far larger and more used than Severus' were. They leaned together, huddled.

"So where do we start looking?"

The 'leader' - the oldest boy - pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Well, let's look at it logically. The first one - Frederich von Schiller - was a Muggle playwright from the sixteenth century. St. Aldhelm of Malmesbury, on the other hand, was a wizard from about 600 A.D. There's no logical connection, except that they're both male. I don't like it."

"It was a lucky chance we found the 'salt' solution, anyway," said a girl who looked about thirteen. "And I don't want to have to go back to reading Muggle-written things anymore."

"We'll do it if that's what the Grey Lady wants," proclaimed the leader, glaring at her over his glasses, and Severus felt himself recoiling slightly. They were reading Muggle works?

The youngest girl - who looked familiar - smiled as she piped up. "I don't mind reading the Muggle things, if you have a problem with them," she squeaked cheerfully, and the others looked at her uncomfortably.

"I guess you wouldn't, would you, Evans," the leader said with a slightly strained casual tone, then changed the subject. "All right then. The rest of you split up and see what you can find. Okay? Ready? Let's go!" With that, all six of them began packing away their parchments and preparing to leave.

Severus was horrified. Quickly, he scrambled back into his chair. He recognized that girl, Evans; he had seen her in his class. She wasn't in Slytherin, but she WAS in Gryffindor. She came from Muggles? He was a half-blood. He understood the shame that came with it. What on earth was that fool girl doing letting people _know_ she came from Muggle stock? For that matter, what was some Mudblood Gryffindor doing with a bunch of questing Ravenclaws?

His mind buzzed with questions. What was this task the Grey Lady had given? What point was there to answering obscure literary riddles? What prize REALLY lay at the end of their journey? Was it really a grimoire?

Severus was determined to find out.

* * *

The Grey Lady was the official ghost of the Ravenclaw house, but that was the extent of Severus' knowledge about her. What exactly these ghosts did, he was not entirely sure; the Bloody Baron seemed absolutely useless except for the purpose of scaring people at ungodly hours of the morning. However, the Bloody Baron also did not talk; it seemed that the Grey Lady did.

It was getting late, but Severus had a mission now. Keeping his bookbag tight over his shoulders, he hurried to the empty second floor. He'd seen her here more than once; she seemed to like sitting at various desks and speaking with various professors. So what if curfew was near? He'd have time for a little investigation, and he'd noted enough Ravenclaws coming from this direction to deduce their house was close. Surely the house ghost would be by the house itself.

Briefly, he wondered if any of his textbooks had a spell for summoning ghosts; somehow, he doubted it.

Peeking into a classroom he didn't know, Severus looked curiously at the strange herbs hanging from the ceiling and arcane symbols on the chalkboard. There was _power_ in those symbols, he could see it, feel it. What classroom was this? Shivering, he stared for a moment longer as though staring could tell him they were, and that's when Peeves caught up with him.

"There's the little baby-snake, crawling so late at night!" cackled the rotund spirit right in Severus' ear, and the boy jumped so badly that his bookbag hit the floor and spilled.

"Peeves!" he squawked.

Peeves cackled and turned a somersault. "And what is the baby snakelet doing so very far from home, hmmmm? I want to know, I do, I do!"

"None of your business," muttered Severus, stuffing his books back into his bag. His heart was still pounding.

"Oh, but I want to KNOW," insisted Peeves, hovering over him. "And so will the caretaker, once he finds you out of bed! Such a naughty little snake," he added, and laughed very coldly.

Severus frowned. "I'm allowed out of bed. It not curfew yet, so go bother someone else."

"Oooh, rude with forked tongue," said Peeves in a terrible, vaguely Asian accent. Severus shook his head in disgust and walked on. Naturally, Peeves followed him.

"Shouldn't be here, no he shouldn't," the poltergeist sang at him, and Severus hunched down. "Shouldn't be here, shouldn't be wandering, shouldn't be walking the halls on his own..."

"I said shut UP," shouted Severus. Hunching down further (it felt for all the world as if his bookbag were the only thing standing between him and that crazy spirit), he turned the corner, and was surprised to find himself facing the portrait of the severe and powerful Veneficus Princeps.

Severus froze. How had he ended up here?

"Shouldn't be here, shouldn't be here!" scream-sang Peeves joyfully, delighted with having gotten a reaction out of the first-year; but this time, Severus ignored him.

How could this be here? He was nowhere near the hospital wing. What had that student said? "Ground floor, third corridor." He was on the _second floor, _in the _sixth corridor_. Severus felt a chill run down his spine. Portraits did not move; this thing was huge, lifesized. No student had levitated it here for foolish amusement. There had to be _two. _Had to be -

Severus suddenly yelped. Something wet, cold, and slimy cascaded down his back, over his clothes, and into his bag. Peeves cackled like a mad thing as he shook the bucket over Severus' head, and it was only as the boy looked up that he realized there had been something besides water in that container.

A single leech fell to the floor in front of Severus and popped like an overfilled water balloon.

Peeves was laughing. "Blood for the hungry, trouble for the student! Everybody gets what they need tonight!"

_There were leeches on his skin._ Severus shouted in terror, ripping his robes off his body and dancing away from the spilled slime and leech and water. Horrified, he tried to feel where they were attached, but he could not. He ran his hands all over himself, waiting at any moment to encounter the cold, slippery bodies sucking on him, draining him, _drinking_ him like some sort of demon -

"PEEVES!"

Peeves stopped laughing and spun in the air. Across from him, carrying a book and looking very severe, was exactly the person Severus had been looking for: the ghost called Grey Lady. Looking very annoyed, she floated up to the poltergeist and surveyed the mess. Liquid had spilled all over the floor; the bucket had rolled into the corner, leaving a trail, and the bloody remains of the exploded leech were staining the stone. Also, there was a shivering, half-naked first year student huddled against the wall.

"Disgusting," she said in summation. Frowning at Peeves, she added, "This behavior is reprehensible. Do you know what you're making the rest of us look like? Pixies with pitchforks, that's what. Now out! Out of here, immediately, or I shall send the Baron down to show you what true fear is about!"

Peeves spun upside down in the air and blew a raspberry; but apparently knew she did not warn idly. Making rude noises the whole way, he corkscrewed down the hall like a deflating balloon until he was out of sight and could no longer be heard.

The Grey Ghost looked down at Severus. "You aren't one of mine," she said airily, surveying the damage. "And you don't have any leeches on you. It was a crude joke. I suggest you take your things and go home. This is most undignified." She turned to go.

"Wait!" cried Severus. He was soaking wet; terror of _things_ being on him still had him shaking, and he was humiliated at being caught like this, but it was not enough to make him quit. There was a grimoire - he couldn't turn back now.

"Yes?" said the Grey Lady, looking at him over her shoulder.

"I... I have a question. About the grimoire," ad-libbed Severus, clutching his wet robe in front of his pale skin.

"Oh," said the Grey Lady, and, looking a little more friendly, turned back to him. "You must be one of the young Questers. Tell me, little one, what is your question?"

Questers? Heh; Severus saw no reason to disabuse her notion. "Your latest clue. We're having a lot of trouble finding the answer."

The Grey Lady turned again, suddenly and visibly bored. "You know the rules. You must find answers all by yourself. I cannot help you."

"Wait, wait! I'm not asking about the riddle," insisted Severus, still making it up as he went along. "I want to ask about the painting."

The Grey Lady turned back, pleased again. Her interest seemed to wax and wane as easily as the moon. "What about it?"

"I'm..." related to the subject of the portrait? No, he couldn't tell her that. Better she not know who he was. "I think I noticed something. Something that's very important, and... I want to know if I'm right." He was going on instinct and logic; the clues so far given were nonsense, and if they weren't, then whatever was the key to understanding them had not yet been given. Suddenly, Severus knew what he was going to ask.

The Grey Lady's attention was waning again. "Yes, child?" she prodded, not out of gentleness so much as boredom.

"The portrait. There are two of them, aren't there?" said Severus, and to his surprise, she smiled.

"Very good. Yes, there are; how did you happen to notice?"

_Because he's my blasted ancestor_, Severus wanted to say, but did not. "They're the key to all your riddles, aren't they? Or maybe they're even the real clue itself. Those puzzles you keep giving us have nothing to do with anything."

She laughed.

It was a cold, high-pitched sound, one that wasn't entirely sane, and Severus' shivering abruptly had nothing to do with his wet clothes. "You think like a Slytherin, child," she accused lightly, still smiling, and her milky eyes were gleaming just a bit. "In conspiracies and tricks. The answer is yes and no. The puzzles give you the pieces you need to form the key, but the keyhole IS within those paintings. I will give you only one more clue." Her smile grew cool. "Within the portraits lies the key; within the key is hid a door, but no true pathway will you see until your thoughts a hole can bore. Good luck, young Quester mine." Without so much as a second look, she turned and glided away.

Severus let her go. His mind was spinning.

Riddles, riddles, the riddles were ASININE, but now he was getting somewhere. He alone held a clue that the others did not. On the other hand, the others perhaps had the answer to the last question by now, which was information _he_ didn't have. So what should he do?

He could go back to the library and try to find the answer, but it had been a lucky circumstance that brought him the riddle in the first place, and he could not possibly hope to have that luck again. Besides, curfew was right around the corner. He could try to find the clue in the portraits themselves, but that would require running back and forth between them, or at least taking copious notes; and even assuming he found out what that key was, he still lacked the answer to that third crazy riddle.

He wanted to look _now_. He wanted to do something, to act, to solve this puzzle before anyone else could, before anyone else had the chance. If he went now, however, he would surely fail; he did not have the knowledge he required. That meant the only option he had was patience. Patience! Ugh; patience was horrible and took so long, but what else could he do?

He could at least begin to gather information on the paintings tonight, couldn't he? Curfew wasn't _that_ close. Pulling on his clothes, he took out some slightly damp parchment from his back and started taking notes.


	4. Chapter Four

**Part Four **

Potter and Black's moratorium on bullying lasted a blissful, too-short twelve days, and finally came to an end with a very spectacular flare. It only figured that they would choose to act in Severus' second-favorite class: potions.

The rest of the day had passed without any ill omens. Potter and Black had both been giving Severus evil looks as usual, but they'd been doing that for a week and a half, and so far no harm had come from it. Perhaps he'd scared them after all; perhaps they would, finally, leave him alone.

Potions class began, and Fortescue started by demonstrating how to deal with the various ingredients before adding them in the proper order. The man considered himself a comedian; twice, he pretended to drop potions ingredients, only to show the class just how wrong the whole thing could go if they botched it up. Nobody laughed; bright orange fire shooting toward the ceiling wasn't really anything to laugh at.

Severus hoped desperately that none of the students on either side of him were going to botch it up.

"All right, class," said Fortescue. "Go ahead and take steps one through eight, just as I've shown you here. Get to work; you have forty minutes, and then we can start on the next steps."

Forty minutes? Child's play. Immediately, Severus began to prepare his potion. Bored, unchallenged, his mind began to wander.

He'd had very little luck so far with the Quester's game. The answer to the riddle (if there even WAS one, he thought bitterly to himself) wasn't coming to him no matter how hard he chewed on it, and even if it were hidden someplace in the library, he had no idea where to look.

Crushed bicorn horn; added. Check.

They'd probably already found the bloody answer anyway and were on to something else. It had only taken them days to locate the answers to the previous riddles, after all. It really wasn't fair. Six of them and one of him; how could he possibly compete? Never mind that he hadn't been purposely included in the game in the first place.

Essence of belladonna, infused with pixie talons: check. Boring, boring potion.

That grimoire... he didn't even know what it was about. Why he'd become so obsessed with it, he did not know. Perhaps it simply was that now everyone was leaving him alone, even Malfoy, he had too much time on his hands. Or maybe he simply craved the edge that grimoire would give him.

"Incendio," he said under his breath as he lit his fire underneath his cauldron. Not too hot; if this stuff even came close to boiling now, it'd be ruined. Time for the diluted bundimun sap. Gods, what a dull potion this was. Curing hiccoughs, indeed.

Of course, his obsession could also be explained by the fact that his ancestor's potrait was involved.

Severus had had the scare of his life that morning when he paused in front of a portrait of large, frumpy-looking woman in a pink dress. He'd been staring at her for a second, amazed that anyone that who looked like that should want to be painted, when she'd done something he'd never expect in a thousand years: she spoke.

"Get out of it, kiddo, this isn't your House," she snarled, and Severus was so startled that he'd run right back down the stairs again, taken the long way to Defense Against the Dark Arts, and was fifteen seconds shy of being late.

The portraits could _talk_.

Maybe it had been obvious to everybody else, but until that point, he hadn't known. There were no portraits in his own home, and none of these had spoken to him before. He knew pictures could move and express themselves - even chocolate frog cards did it, as well as the photographs he'd seen. But portraits could TALK. Not just make faces and move about; _talk_. This changed everything.

Severus had already spent hours - _hours_ - in front of the two portraits of Veneficus Princeps, studying them, analyzing them, even muttering a little to himself when no one else was around. He'd sketched out nearly every detail of them both, and in all that time, Veneficus had never said a word to him. Not one word. Why? Perhaps he was used to being stared at? Maybe? No; that answer didn't feel right.

Aconite, aconite, where was the aconite - ah, there it was. Carefully, Severus began shredding it into thin, even pieces.

Perhaps Veneficus simply didn't like to talk. He couldn't know, after all, that an ancestor of his was the one standing there at odd hours, looking at him. Perhaps if he did, he'd be willing to -

"Thirty two minutes passed, ladies and gentlemen," said Fortescue, and Severus quickly checked his own progress. Excellent - he was right on time. Adding his final ingredient, he turned up the heat on his little fire just a bit and settled back to wait. Nothing more to do until new instructions came along.

Perhaps being half a Prince - Princeps - would give him an advantage. If Veneficus were in cahoots with the Grey Lady - and at this point anything seemed possible - then maybe knowing he were dealing with another Prince would make him amenable to helping. Maybe Severus would not need that final clue after all.

He could hope. It certainly couldn't do any harm to ask.

"I'm going to put the final instructions on the board now," said Fortescue, gesturing with his chalk. "I'll need you all to pay very careful attention; if you do this wrong, you could end up with hiccoughs... for the rest of your life! Ah - no, no, Mr. Abbott, I am NOT being serious, please do not turn that particular shade of green, it disturbs me. All right? Everybody ready? Here we go!"

It happened so quickly. Professor Fortescue turned his back to write on the blackboard - only for a moment, just a moment, and suddenly Severus was in the air. He never even heard the spell that did it. Abruptly and so quickly that he didn't have time to scream, he was flipped upside and and dropped head-first into his cauldron.

It was the perfect width to pin his arms. He was trapped.

So much heat, so much FIRE - the half-cooked potion burned into his face, his scalp, his eyes. It slid between his lips when he tried to scream and scalded his throat, flooding into his lungs when he tried to inhale. The inside of the cauldron was too slick for traction; his weight pushed him down, twisting him into a neck-breaking curl, submerging his head completely. He could not breathe. He could not BREATHE. He was going to _die_ -

Fortescue pulled him out.

People were laughing at him.

"Fell into his cauldron!"

"Did you SEE that? Kicking all over like a giant frog - "

"Quiet! Everyone, this is NOT a joke! Mr. Snape, are you all right?"

Severus could make no coherent answer. He was gasping, sobbing, coughing up potion in frame-wracking sobs. His biting bitter-gnats, not yet dead, had swarmed all over him the instant he'd been dumped in, and he'd inhaled them as well as swallowed. Their ticklish gnawing inside his stomach and his lungs only added to his fear. Breathe. He felt like he could not _breathe_.

"Somebody better tell him to get new underwear - "

"I said be SILENT," snapped Fortescue at whomever had spoken. "Mr. Snape, I'm going to take you to the hospital wing. You're all right. Do you hear me? A little burned, a few bitter-biting gnats in your system, nothing that Smethwyck cannot handle, do you understand?"

Numbly, Severus nodded. His scalp was on fire, but he was shaking; breathe. He had to keep breathing. That feeling of drawing in liquid when his lungs tried to find air -

"Off we go, then. And the rest of you, you listen to me. That was NOT funny. If I find out who did it... no horsing around while I am gone, do you hear?" And he escorted Severus out of the room.

Severus was still coughing up bits of potions and now-dead gnats when they finally arrived in the medical wing.

Smethwyck fussed, and Fortescue hemmed and hawed; there was a brief moment of flirting between the potions professor and the young Ms. Pomfrey, but Severus missed that exchange. The only thing he could do was _breathe_ in great, ragged gasps, even though it made him cough more, because air was something he could never take for granted again.

"Calm down, Mr. Snape," somebody told him, but he could not. Severus could not calm down. He could have _died_.

Nobody else seemed to care about this. Nobody. The attack had come without warning, and nobody even cared.

His teacher left. "Calm down, Mr. Snape," he said as he went, but Severus could not. The nurse tried to give him a calming draught, but he was coughing so badly that he vomited it back up.

"Calm down, Mr. Snape."

Calm down. Calm DOWN?

_If his teacher had not turned around, he could have died, because nobody else was going to help him_. This thought - worse than the lack of air, worse than the feeling of burning, slimy liquid covering his face - made him groan and clutch his stomach.

Smethwyck and Pomfrey poured various medicines down his throat, and at one point even attempted to apply a cheering charm. These things served to make him stop sobbing; but they did little to ease the cold, heavy anvil that had settled in his gut.

Severus knew who'd done it. He hadn't had to see who it was to know that. Potter and Black, moving like one, mutated being sharing a single brain, prowling forward and spelling him bodily into the cauldon with frightening precision and terrifying intent. They were nowhere near when Fortescue had pulled him out. They'd intended to leave him in there.

He. Could. Have. DIED.

"Calm down, Mr. Snape," said somebody who didn't care, and in spite of the calming draughts and cheering spells, Severus again began to cry.

"Poppy, sometimes, drastic things have to be done," murmured Smethwyck sympathetically; and uttering a stun spell, he knocked Severus out.

Severus did not try to fight the blackness. If he could have, he would have been grateful for it.

* * *

He woke up in a small, curtained-off area in the medical wing. Night had clearly fallen; it was dark, and warm, and wonderfully quiet. Severus had never in his life felt so relaxed; nothing in his body burned, tickled, or bit. All those draughts and cheering charms were still having an effect. He felt... peace.

"Glad to see you're looking better," came a voice from his bedside. Feeling no need to hurry, Severus looked toward it.

There sat Malfoy.

The older boy had a few textbooks spread out; it seemed he'd been doing his homework next to the bed. Severus observed him, studied his books, his casual clothes. Nearly a full minute passed; his thoughts took their own time to come home.

"Hello," he finally said, unable to summon the will to move. Everything just felt so nice.

Malfoy raised his eyebrow. "I see the calming draughts finally caught up with you."

"Yeah," said Severus, and was surprised to note in a vague fashion that his voice sounded slurred. "Yeaaaah," he said again, testing. Yes; it was definitely slurred. How strange.

Malfoy's lips quirked in an uneven smile. "I should take a photograph of you this way. I don't think anybody would believe it when I told."

"Oh, don't tell," said Severus dreamily, and almost lifted one hand to emphasize his words. But his limbs felt SO nice and relaxed; eh, why bother?

"Don't tell? Why not, Severus?" Malfoy asked, amused.

"Because..." This took a moment to answer. Severus' thougths were as relaxed as his muscles. "Then it would be bad."

"Bad?"

"I'd get laughed at again."

"Ahhhh. I see." Malfoy closed his book. "Being laughed at is a real horror for you, isn't it?"

Severus seemed to recall that he'd hated Lucius for bothering him before. Right now, for the life of him, he couldn't see why. "It's really awful."

"I see." Malfoy cleaned forward, elbows on his thighs, and watched.

A few minutes went by before Severus realized he was still there. This seemed like a friendly thought, so he shared it.

"You're still here."

Malfoy laughed this time, softly. "Yes, I am. I'm glad you noticed."

"Well, you're there. It's hard not to," said Severus conversationally. So strange; he recalled everything that had happened in class that afternoon, but now it didn't bother him.

"Really?" Malfoy looked pleased.

"Yes. You're very loud."

At this, Malfoy laughed uproariously. Severus half expected Smethwyck or Pomfrey to come along and shush him, but no one did.

"You are really amusing in this state, Severus," chuckled Malfoy. "Please call me Lucius. 'Malfoy' reminds me too much of my father."

"Looshus," said Severus, then giggled.

"Yes, indeed," Lucius said dryly. "I still want to speak to you, Severus, but I think this isn't the time. Tell you what: when you're better, come to me, and we'll talk."

"Mmkay."

"I mean it, Severus. I can provide you with exactly what you need."

A beat. "What I need?"

Lucius patted him on the knee. "Protection. When you're ready, Severus, come to me. We can talk." And he stood. One flick of his wand, and all his papers and books were scooped neatly into his bag. "When you're ready." And he turned and left the ward.

Protection?

What a fascinating concept. Severus thought it sounded very nice, and he would like to think about it. Maybe later. Closing his eyes, he dozed.

* * *

Three hours later, voices woke him up.

"Careful! Be careful with them."

"I am, I am... oh, Merlin. Be CAREFUL. Oh, Lily!"

"We're fine, we're fine, shush. Where's Smethwyck?"

"I'll find him." Footsteps retreating.

Lily? Lily. What was familiar about - wait, Lily? THAT Lily? Struggling to be more awake, Severus sat straight up and listened.

"Oh, Charles, I'm so sorry."

"Not... your fault," said someone - the older boy, the leader. He sounded bad. Hoarse, weak, breathless; a moment later, and he was coughing wetly

"Charles!" said somebody else, a girl, who then promptly began to cry.

Footsteps returning. "Out of the way, out of the way - what's all this here? Mr. Montgomery, Miss Evans, what on earth have you done to yourselves?"

There was a sound of rustling; Montgomery groaned, Evans yipped, and Smethwyck muttered. "Merlin's beard, what a mess. I know where THIS came from. _Power to Rule the World_, am I right? Every seven years, this happens. Someone should talk to the Grey Lady about this - Poppy! Get in here, you need to see this."

Severus' head was spinning. The calming draughts had still not worked their way out of his system; he wanted to hear more, needed to, but his body was giving him no option. As Pomfrey and Smethwyck continued to fuss, sleep stole over him once more, and in moments, he was asleep.

It seemed the race for the grimoire was not going to be nearly as simple as he'd thought.

* * *

Severus was released from the hospital wing the next morning, once the nurses were convinced he had, indeed, calmed down. He peeked quickly when no one was watching to see where Charles and the others had been, but there was no sign of them. Had he dreamed the whole thing?

He was sure he hadn't. The Questers had come in last night, and two of them - at least two - had been severely injured. Somehow, the portrait was involved.

But which one? And how?

There was only one way to find out. It was time to talk to the portrait. Whatever it was that had happened, Veneficus would know - and if the Grey Lady was not going to give any more clues, perhaps Veneficus would be willing to do so instead. No more putting it off.

Severus studied his feet as he moved through the halls, grateful for the perfect weather outside that drew most of the students out of the school on this lovely Saturday in October.

"Ready or not," he said very softly, "here I come."

On a whim, he decided to visit the larger portrait upstairs, near the Ravenclaw's tower. The slug-slime had long been cleaned from the hallway, but Severus swore he could still smell the stuff whenever he passed through. Nervous, he stopped in front of the portrait of Veneficus Princeps and stared at it.

Austere, Veneficus stared back.

There was something so powerul about the portrait of Veneficus Princeps. Perhaps it was perspective, or the colors and detail used; the master of his domain, Veneficus towered over the earth on his great black horse, glowing potions in his hands as though the very secrets of life and death were already his - and even standing in front of it took courage. Severus had done it before. He'd sketched in front of it, sitting with his back against the far wall, taking notes and making comparisons. Never had Veneficus spoken to him, and never had Severus tried. Now, it was time to end the silence.

"Hello," said Severus, and waited.

The horse on which Veneficus rode snorted once and pawed the painted earth. A long moment of silence passed. "You're one of mine," Veneficus finally said in a low, smooth voice that bothered Severus for reasons he could not pinpoint.

"Yes, sir, I think I am," replied Severus, feeling very, very small. This life-sized portrait was suddenly looking more three-dimensional than he liked.

The darkness behind his ancestor shifted, undulated. "You think or you know? Stupid little pissworm, you have to try harder than that."

...well. THAT was unexpected. Taken aback by the aggressiveness, Severus hesitated before answering. "I - "

"Quickly!" snapped Veneficus.

"I know, sir, I KNOW. The headmaster told me," replied Severus, still a bit shaken. This conversation was really not going as he'd envisioned.

"Do you, now? Just because the headmaster told you, hm? Pitiful little sperm-wipe. You'd believe anything you were told, wouldn't you? You're reprehensible. Get out of my sight."

Shocked, Severus had no idea how to respond. His mouth fell open. "What - "

"OUT OF MY SIGHT!" thundered the painted man on his horse, and the horse reared up with a horrible, screeching neigh and the darkness behind him shifted, bubbling as if it were going to come reaching out of the portrait after him -

Severus didn't stop to think about how ridiculous that idea was. He simply ran.

* * *

Part Four - A Different Point of View, II 

_Author's Note: You will be reading several of these "Different Point of View" segments as the story progresses. Please don't let them throw you! Because I understand that there is always more than one side to every issue, these small sections exist to present exactly what the title says: a different point of view. _

_Given that the rest of this story is very strongly from Severus' rather biased viewpoint, one might say it was only fair._

_Heh heh heh. _

* * *

"Hey, James."

"Yeah, Sirius?"

"Whaddaya wanna do?"

"Dunno. There's not much to do today."

"Yeah. I know." And both of them sat in companionable, sweet silence.

The day was simply beautiful; with winter coming, it was anyone's guess how much longer Scotland would provide them with weather like this, so even with nothing at all to do, they were enjoying it. Lying on their backs in the soft grass down by the lake, both James and Sirius knew true peace had come to them; it was a gift. It could be gone tomorrow, what with a dark lord on the rise, homework, and who knew what else on the horizon, so why waste it?

Behind them, higher up on the hill, Remus sat with Peter and tried again to go over transfiguration homework with him. Peter was a nice kid, if a bit dull. James and Sirius and Remus were all flying through their classes, comprehending with an ease that had already caught their teachers' attention, but Peter... well.

Peter just tried _really_ hard.

"So basically what you're saying is the thing has to turn into something else from... uh... the inside out?" Peter said.

Remus winced; below in the grass, James and Sirius could practically feel it, and they couldn't help grinning at each other.

"Not exactly, Peter," said Remus.

"But it DOES work inside and out, right?" Peter asked helplessly, and clutched his book. "It doesn't transform them halfway or just on the outside, right? Right?" He sounded panicked.

"Awww," murmured Sirius for James' ears only. "Poor kid's really screwed up about this. I'm thinking he may not pass this one."

"Yeah, you're right." James considered; the clouds over his head made him think of a Quidditch match. "Maybe we should do something to help him out a bit."

Sirius rolled onto his side and propped himself on his elbow, ignoring the drama behind him as Peter began to cry and Remus comforted. "What?"

"Mmm... I dunno, exactly. But after pulling off what we did in potions, mate... I have to say, I'm feeling like we can accomplish pretty much anything." And quietly, they began to laugh. They tried to hold it in, they really did; but laughter like this was contagious, and in a few moments both of them were guffawing.

Remus heard it and gave them a stern look from his perch higher on the hill, but Peter's angst kept him from giving them his attention.

Sirius was wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "Merlin... when his robe flipped up and his legs - "

"I know, I know, and then he flashed the whole CLASS - " James had both sleeves over his mouth, trying to be quiet.

Remus sent more dirty looks in their direction.

"Sorry, sorry," choked James, waving his arm at Remus. He held himself in for one moment, and then exploded. Rolling onto his back, he laughed so hard that tears streamed down his cheeks, and Sirius joined him.

Peter had stopped sniffling and was staring at them both, mouth open.

"Gaping like a fish!" cried Sirius between breaths, and Remus had had enough.

"Will you two STOP it? It wasn't that funny!"

"Was!" James managed. "Kicking! Like a frog, both legs!" Sirius renewed his laughter.

Remus winced. "...okay, maybe it was a little funny to look at it, but it still wasn't a good thing to do."

"Not a good thing! Remus, he tried to KILL James!" Sirius suddenly shouted, his laughter gone. "Kill him! KILL. HIM. What does being dumped into his own greasy cauldron have in comparison to that?"

"Nothing. I suppose," said Remus hesitantly.

Peter looked back and forth between the three - Remus, thoughtful, Sirius, challenging, and James, smiling happily at the sky. He looked up at the sky, too, but whatever James saw that made him happy, Peter could not see it.

He wanted to see it. He wanted what they had; that power to be happy, to make others happy. He wanted it a lot.

"I think it was bloody brilliant," he suddenly said, ignoring Remus' surprpised look. Sirius looked at Peter and grinned; James held up one hand with the thumb pointed skyward, clearly approving.

Peter was thrilled.

"You're corrupting him!" Remus accused, and James and Sirius started laughing again.

"Corrupting... ahaha!"

"Guys, I'm serious," Remus insisted; but suddenly he was unable to keep a straight face.

"Yeah, corrupting... like SATAN!" shouted Sirius with accompanying hand gestures, and Remus laughed in spite of himself.

"Corrupting," James said, smirking. "We're not corrupting him, Remus! We're helping him out. Nothing like seeing the good guys win once in a while, is there, Peter?"

Peter, ready to agree with anything, grinned and shook his head.

"There you go, then," continued James, sitting up. "And you know what else? I bet if the three of us helped Peter, he'd pass transfiguration with flying colors. What do you say, Peter? Interested?"

"AM I?" Peter cried.

"Corrupting him to better grades, that's what we're doing."

"All right, all right, you two, I got the point," Remus said as he shook his head and smiled. Maybe they were right. It was a stupid prank, after all, it really was; and now, here these two were, sacrificing their afternoon to help out poor Peter. They weren't the bad guys. Remus wasn't sure yet that Snape _was_; but he certainly knew what Snape wasn't: one of _them_, this special, special group of friends - and Remus was. It was a position he wouldn't trade for anything in the world.

Remus spent a moment feeling a little sorry for Snape, but it passed. There was transfiguration to learn - and James was right. Between the three of them, Peter would get it. And then between the four of them together, they could "get" anything.

They stayed on the hill until the afternoon had long passed, and barely noticed the time going by.


	5. Chapter Five

**Part Five**

Down here in the dungeons, there were no sounds from outside. No voices shouting or people playing, no practice spells or accidental explosions. He couldn't even hear the wind in the trees or the water lapping the shores of the lake. It was a hollow, damp kind of quiet that Severus both craved and feared, and in the wake of his strange and stressful day, he wanted to hide in it forever.

Severus was berating himself. He was very good at it. He'd had a lot of practice, and any refinement that skill required had been provided by those around him many years ago. Right now, however, this particular act of self-recrimination needed no outside help.

"Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid, STUPID," he snarled, pacing in his room before flinging himself onto his bed and hitting the mattress with both fists. "What's wrong with you? What, the painting was going to come after you or something? IDIOT."

Idiot; he felt that summed his behavior up very nicely. He'd had no good reason to run from the portrait, never mind the swirling, bubbling darkness and the raw authority projected by Veneficus. It was painted authority. It wasn't real. He'd just run like a child from something that wasn't even _real_.

Ugh.

Well, he would simply have to go back and face it, that was all. Go and have a few more words with that strangely unpleasant man, ask him what happened with the Ravenclaw students, maybe ask him about the grimoire. Threaten? Well; maybe he could do that, too. He was certainly capable of setting the canvas on fire, if nothing else came to mind. Anything would be better than sitting in here like a fearful child.

Rising from his bed, he nodded at Widdershins who passed him on his way out the door and headed for the stairs. He had the funny idea that it would be better to try with the second, smaller portrait downstairs, by the medical wing, rather than the one that had yelled at him. Eh; it could do no harm to try.

The suit of armor was still in the hall. _"Better wash your hair, sonny,"_ it advised this time, but Severus ignored it. Down, to the left, and toward the next corner - no moving staircases to bother with. No other students. No teachers - no ghosts, which was always a good thing. One more turn, and -

Someone was already at the portrait.

Severus froze. There, before _Power to Rule the World_, was the oldest Quester. The boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old, who'd been brought into the medical wing the night before with some sort of heavy injury. He didn't honestly look as though he should be up and about now, either.

Montgomery stood and gazed at the painting, a look of raw fury on his face. Somehow, that expression exacerbated the paleness of his features, the messiness of his hair, the stark whiteness of the bandages on his arm.

Bandages? Smethwyck hadn't been able to actually cure what ailed him?

"You won't get away with it," growled Montgomery. "I'm on to you - you and your stupid twin upstairs. You think you know what you're doing, but you don't, and by the time I'm done - "

Veneficus did not move; neither did the dark shadow behind him, but somehow, Montgomery suddenly knew he was being watched. Turning his head sharply, he scowled into the gloom.

"Who's that? Who's there? Peeves, if that's you..." He took his wand out.

Severus hunched.

"I see you there," Montgomery threatened, and took a step.

Severus didn't want to be cursed. He spent enough time being cursed as it was, and wasn't eager to see what an older student could come up with. "No! No, it isn't Peeves, it's just... ah, it's just me." Severus said quickly, his hands up. "Um," he said, and then stared.

Head on, Montgomery looked mad. Really, truly mad. There were dark rings under his eyes, and his lips were pulled back in a rictus over his teeth. Severus could barely believe this was the same robust boy he'd spied on in the library barely two weeks ago.

Montgomery's wand was still pointed at him.

"I'll just be going now," tried Severus, but Montgomery snarled.

"Don't even think about it," he growled. "You're a Slytherin. I know that look. What did you hear? What did you see?"

Hear? See? Fuck. "Um... I don't know. I just..." lie, lie, he had to lie. "I just walked up here, and..."

"Why? WHY were you here?" Montgomery snapped.

"I was just - "

"DON'T LIE TO ME!" screamed Montgomery, and Severus panicked.

"That portrait... I wanted to see the portrait, that's all, that's all!" Severus cried, horrified at himself for telling the truth but unable to think of anything else that might prevent the rapidly destabilizing Montgomery from attacking him.

The Ravenclaw stared at him. "What? The portrait?" He looked up at the portrait, then back at the small boy. "You look like him. You're one of his children, aren't you?" he suddenly accused, pointing.

The portrait, for its part, did nothing. Severus, on the other hand, began to think he'd made a big mistake.

"Accio student!" Montgomery suddenly cried, and Severus abruptly found himself flying through the air. He had time to cry out only once, and then Montgomery's _pugnus capto _ froze Severus in the air as though he'd hit a brick wall. Pain shocked his body as the feeling of a giant hand caught and closed tightly around him; his breath left.

"Ha ha ha!" laughed Montgomery triumphantly, and turned toward the portrait. "You see? You SEE? I have your seed! I have your child! Do as I say or you lose him tonight!" Still trying to regain his air, Severus looked up at the portrait of Venficus Princeps.

Veneficus - in every inch the same as in the portrait two floors above - inspected them idly, as if for the life of him he did not care. A slow smile quirked the corners of his cruel, thin lips.

"Is this the best you can do, Montgomery? Because the last I checked, this little sperm-wipe was so poor a representative of my family line that I would gladly sacrifice him to keep your grubby hands off my treasure."

Severus was beginning to see stars. Whatever spell Montgomery had used was suffocating, holding him effortlessly in the air - and that _voice_. Veneficus... he was the same as the one upstairs? But he couldn't be! They were two different portraits - they just had the same repertoire of insults, that was all, that was all -

"Don't say that," whispered Montgomery, looking completely insane. "You won't think that when I tear him to pieces."

"Don't!" Severus tried to say, but he could not. That _fist_ holding him, the fist, it was over his mouth, over his chest, over his whole body and he could not MOVE -

"I already think that," replied Veneficus calmly. "I saw him upstairs. He was a pitiful little shit-producing waste then, and he's a pitiful little shit-producing waste now. Do whatever you like. The fact that THAT creature bears my name is almost enough to make me want to give up the ghost completely." And he smiled as though making a joke.

Severus stared.

"RAAH!" Montgomery abruptly cried, and with a flick of his wand flung Severus away from him and into the far wall. "Give it to me! Give it to me! I've been looking for seven years and YOU WILL GIVE IT TO ME!" And he pounded his fist against the portrait.

There was a flash. No; not a flash - something dark, as if the opposite of lightning filled the hall, blinding Severus in its brilliant black. He blinked wildly, rubbing his eyes, and when he could see again, he was alone.

Alone. Where did Montgomery go?

Wincing, Severus stood up. He was bruised; this was such a strange turn of events he didn't know what to make of any of it, and as of this point, he was incapable of reacting. Montgomery was gone; Veneficus was smirking at him. Severus stared back.

"Run away, little boy," Veneficus soothed in a warm, seductive baritone, "or face the fate your idiot older schoolmate has. And if you do... no one will be able to help you."

Montgomery was still gone, and Severus knew he was in over his head. Turning on his heel, he hurried down the hall and toward the stairs. Yes, the stairs; because he had to see, HAD to know right now if the portrait upstairs knew what the one downstairs had done.

He knew there could be multiple portraits of a person, of course there could; but how could the one know what the other did? Surely they did not - they were not the same. They couldn't be. Breathless, he tripped over the top step and stumbled into the third floor hallway, turned the corner, and -

...what the HELL...

Dumbledore, seated and comfortable, looked up from the chess game he was apparently playing with nobody in front of Veneficus' portrait and smiled. "Hello, Mr. Snape," he said.

This was too much. On top of everything else, this was too much. "You...but... what... was he here the whole time?" Severus finished weakly, and pointed at the portrait.

Veneficus was off the horse. Both potions were on the "ground" behind him, and he was sitting quite casually with his legs crossed at the portrait's edge. "I thought you ran away," he said mildly, and looked at the headmaster. "Knight to G4, if you please."

"Of course, Veneficus - ah. You are clever," murmured Dumbledore, and tapped the board once with his wand. The knight - a battered, old looking piece - actually blew a rasberry at him before moving.

"How rude," commented Dumbledore.

Severus was beginning to think he was dreaming this whole mess. "What are you doing?" he asked stupidly, unable to think of anything else. Veneficus had seen him run away; Veneficus knew -

"Why, playing chess, of course!" said Dumbledore happily. "I'd invite you to join, but alas... it's only good for two people." He shook his head in apparent remorse.

Severus bit back the urge to inform the headmaster how insane he apparently was. "I can see that. I mean... what are you doing with my ancestor?" He bit his lower lip. "I mean - " before anyone could be sarcastic. "Was Veneficus here the whole time?"

Dumbledore looked vaguely startled. "I should hope so, or I've been hallucinating. Have I been hallucinating, Veneficus?"

"Always," Veneficus replied. "You're a blundering old fool with a fondness for individuals that blinds you to the needs of the whole. You spend your entire life hallucinating."

"There you are, then," said Dumbledore cheerfully, and moved a piece on the board.

Severus was silent.

Veneficus glared at him. "Why is that still here? Get it away, Dumbledore, or I shall not continue playing with you."

"Then I win by default!" said Dumbledore cheerily; but Veneficus stood. Apparently, he meant it.

Dumbledore sighed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Snape," he said to Severus. "If you wish to stay, then do so by all means; but I fear Veneficus is going to continue to be tetchy with you."

"Tetchy?" repeated Severus dully.

"Tetchy," said Dumbledore, and looked quite serious.

Veneficus spat on the painted ground.

"...right, then," said Severus with a vague sort of tone, and turning on his heel, marched back down the hall.

Absolutely _none_ of that had made sense. Montgomery was gone; just... plain gone. He should have said something, told the headmaster - but surely if Veneficus and he played chess on a regular basis, then... no, that didn't necessarily mean he'd know anything. Montgomery was GONE. Veneficus knew about it - maybe Smethwyck knew something, or...

Severus groaned. Every part of his body was aching; his mind ached, as though his brain had been bruised, and all of his thoughts were jumbled. For the life of him, he could think of nothing to do now. He couldn't find Montgomery. He could, perhaps, go back and tell Dumbledore that Montgomery had disappeared... but that risked showing his own involvement in the Quest, however distantly, and that was a very unwise idea. He needed to do something. He needed to tell someone. He couldn't do anything about that bit himself; and Veneficus was... frightening.

What he needed was someone with the ability to deal with this situation without ratting him out. Severus bit his lower lip; one person was coming to mind. Just one. One person he did not, would not, could not want to speak to. One person who had made it clear he was available to BE spoken to.

"Damn it all to hell," murmured Severus. "I won't go talk to Malfoy. I won't. Fuck the whole world, I won't." And with that, he stalked through the common room and to his own bed with every intention of staying there the rest of the night.

He did.

* * *

It was Sunday, and Severus didn't want to move.

Bruises, he felt, had replaced all of his skin stealthily during the night. The slightest shift of his muscles acquainted him with pain in new places, and for a long time after he awoke, he couldn't move at all.

One by one, the other students in his room left. Only one tried to speak to him.

"Hey. Can I borrow your notes for - " began Avery, and Severus - still prone - took his head off.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" he snarled at the ceiling, and was quite pleased when Avery yipped and ran accordingly. Now, that was power; to be able to send someone running from you with a word. Like Veneficus, in fact. Why, Severus had managed to terrify (or perhaps merely annoy, but that wasn't nearly as flattering) his entire dorm room to the point that all of them left him alone! Surely that was a smashing success!

He tried to sit up. The muscles in his stomach immediately informed him this was a bad idea; groaning, he tried to roll off the bed instead. In that, he succeeded; cold stone met his knees, and he grunted. What had Montgomery DONE to him? Whatever it was, he would get through it. He would. Gritting his teeth and gripping the mattress, he tried to stand up.

Oh, gods; the muscles in his legs, in his back, all of them were aching. Breathing carefully, he kept himself balanced. He could do this, he could do this, he could -

His left leg cramped up from toe to thigh, and with a small cry, Severus fell back to the floor.

It was pain like he'd never known, ringing with tension - gripping his leg, nearly sobbing, he twisted on the floor; desperate, he hit his leg, but it didn't help. Help; he needed help. He needed -

"_Relaxo_."

Severus body went limp. The sudden cessation of pain throughought his body, especially his left leg, left him nearly dizzy, but he didn't care. He didn't even care who had helped him. Footsteps approached, quietly.

"So what did you do to yourself today, Severus?" a soft voice murmured, and then the tickling ends of long, soft hair brushed his face as someone knelt over him. Not someone, Malfoy; Malfoy had come in here to find him.

"Fuggoff," Severus attempted to tell him, but could barely murmur it. The pain was gone; oh, it was _gone_.

"Not now, thanks," said Lucius, and picked him up.

Severus tried to stiffen, but the relaxation spell was still in effect, and he could not. That was okay. That was okay. The pain wasn't there.

Lucius put him into his bed. "When you didn't show up at breakfast, I thought perhaps you'd been attacked again. It looks as though I was right - you do attract negative attention. Tell me, who did it this time?"

Stony glares met this query.

"Mmm," Lucius replied. "I see you are going to be difficult." He quirked a naughty little smile and ran his wand up Severus' chest. "I should curse you for being an idiot. Or for being rude. Instead... I'm going to do something worse. Can you imagine what it is?"

Worse? Worse? He was going to do something worse? It was too much; nobody liked him, everybody was mean to him, the portrait was cruel - Severus shook his head no. His eyes were welling up.

Lucius' own eyes widened at that, but he refrained from comment. "The answer is... breakfast. I'm going to feed you. You're going to get a little niceness in your life, young Severus, whether you like it or not!"

Severus stared at him.

"Yurkrizzy," he tried to say, but still could not. Hm; that relaxing spell HAD been effective. He supposed he should be grateful he hadn't lost bladder control. For now, he would have to be content with scowling.

Lucius smiled. "You are a cute little thing," he murmured, and waving his wand, began summoning food - somehow. Severus watched this wand work with interest.

"Howdjoo - " he stopped. This was embarassing; he was GOING to speak clearly if it killed him. "How... did..." those d's were hard - " you... do... that?"

"Smarten up a bit and I'll tell you," replied Lucius casually, and began assembling various breakfast materials with deft grace. "Do you like yogurt? Ah well, it's good for you."

"Why?" managed Severus, glad to hear it did not sound slurred. Come to think of it, he'd been drugged the last time they spoke, too, hadn't he? Gods, now this was REALLY getting embarassing.

"Because I like you, Severus Snape. I'm beginning to think you'll need to hear this at least six times a day before it sinks in." Lucius made a move as if he were shuffling cards, and suddenly breakfast was complete. He held a spoonful of yogurt with granola in it to Severus' lips. "Open up."

Severus refused. Staring at Lucius, he shook his head no, sharply.

"Come on now, don't make me use the Imperius on you!" Severus looked horrified. "...Snape, I was kidding. It's a joke."

"You're..." careful, don't slur. "Not a joke."

Lucius smiled slowly. "Thank you - I think. You're quite right, by the way; I'm not a joke. Now, open up or this is getting all down the front of your robe."

Severus' stomach growled. What else was he going to do? Glumly, he opened his mouth.

"Theeeere we go," murmured Lucius, pleased. Spoonful successfully delivered, he picked up a piece of toast and tore off a bite-size chunk. "Open up."

"You're a freak," Severus said this time before accepting the bite of toast.

"Mmm," said Lucius, possibly concurring, possibly not. He picked up a small slice of peach. "Open up."

Severus needed no prodding this time. "You are," he said around the peach-bit. "Are a freak."

"Oh, probably, all the beautiful people are," said Lucius casually, then stopped at the glower on Severus' face. "I wasn't insulting your appearance, you silly child. Must everything be about you?"

"No!" said Severus, and accepted another bite of yogurt with crunch. Strawberry; it wasn't bad, strawberry.

"I think it is," said Lucius. "Everything anybody says is directed against you - or so you seem to feel. Open up."

The marmalade Malfoy had chosen for the toast was good. "It usually is. When they say it to me, anyway."

"Really? And why do you suppose that is?" queried Lucius amiably and gave him a slice of peach.

Severus swallowed it completely before answering. "Because... they hate me," he finally said, unsure how else to phrase it.

"Really," murmured Lucius, and dabbed at Severus with a napkin. "That makes you awfully important, doesn't it?" His yogurt-filled spoon touched Severus' lips.

"What?" said Severus. Lucius pushed the spoon in.

"Oops, spilled a bit," Lucius murmured, and dabbed again.

"I'm not important," insisted Severus, and Lucius tore off another piece of toast.

"Yes, you are, if everybody hates you," he replied, and shoved the piece into Severus' mouth. It was a big one and would take longer to chew. "Hate is the most powerful emotion a human being can know. If everybody hates you, Severus, then you are by far the most important person in the lives of everybody you meet. That's fairly impressive. Open up."

Severus' mouth was wide open and stayed that way when Lucius inserted the slice of peach. He chewed it once, then swallowed it nearly whole.

"That... but that..."

"Tell me this, Severus," said Lucius as he measured out a spoonful of yogurt and granola. "Do you hate everyone you meet?"

It was a trick question and Severus knew it, but he still lashed out. "Yes!" he snapped, and Lucius laughed at him.

"No, you don't!" he said, dipping the spoon into Severus' mouth. "You merely dislike and distrust. If you actually hated them, you'd run around trying to kill everybody you see the moment they came into view." He leaned in close, grinning over Severus' confused, chewing scowl. "You don't hate anybody at all. You don't even know what hate _is_, and as much as I like you, Severus, I have to admit that hearing your misuse of that particular word makes me sick. Open up." And he pushed the last piece of toast.

Severus was speechless. Something in Malfoy's eyes at that very moment had blossomed, become something deeper, something _more_, something_ wrong_ - no, not wrong, just disturbingly OLD. And then in the next second, that something was gone.

Severus stared at him.

"Almost done," said Lucius cheerfully, and offered the last slice of peach. "If all of this sugar doesn't get you going today, I don't know what will. Of course, you didn't have much protein; from the look of you, you don't get much of that anyway - but we can make up for that during lunch."

"We?" choked Severus finally, swallowing the last piece of peach without tasting it. "There is no _we_."

"Of course there isn't," said Lucius soothingly, and patted him on the head. Severus growled and nearly bit him.

Lucius chuckled. "Hours of entertainment, you are," he said, and with his wand, whisked all the used dishes and remaining garbage away. "See you at lunch, Severus. I'd suggest you lie here for a while and relax - oh, and you might want to get some water or something soon. I COULD give you tea, but it's a pain trying to give someone beverages when they're lying down. It always gets everywhere."

"... why did you do this?" Severus suddenly asked, his voice suspicious and quiet. Something in his tone must have caught Lucius' attention; the older boy stopped and look at him without smiling.

"Didn't I already answer that, Severus?" he said in reply, just as quietly.

"No. Not really."

They looked at one another in silence. Lucius' eyes narrowed; a small, too-old smile touched his lips, and he nodded. "Smarten up a bit and I'll tell you," he said.

"Tell the Ravenclaw prefect that Charles Montgomery is missing," Severus suddenly said, careful to add no change in his tone.

Lucius looked validly surprised. "...all right," he said after a moment, and did not question.

Did not question. That meant more to Severus than it should.

"See you at lunch, then," said the older boy again, and left the room.

Severus felt... better. There was no pain, anywhere, although he still felt as though trying to walk anyplace would land him on the floor again. His stomach was contentedly full; the particular foods Lucius had chosen worked very well together in there. He'd delivered warning about Montgomery to _somebody_, at least, so that burden was off his shoulders. And now...

Well. Now, he was going to sleep. The portrait mystery was still bothering him, but the whole thing had gotten so frightening at this point that he wasn't sure he was going to continue. Dark magic was always contained in a grimoire; right now, Severus was ready to believe that the magic involved in this riddle was some of the darkest.

The temptation of accessible power battled with his sense of self-preservation; at this moment, neither came out on top.

Severus would think about it later. Stomach content and body relaxed, instead he went to sleep.

* * *

Part Five - A Different Point of View, III 

_Author's Note: You will be reading several of these "Different Point of View" segments as the story progresses. Please don't let them throw you! Because I understand that there is always more than one side to every issue, these small sections exist to present exactly what the title says: a different point of view. _

_Given that the rest of this story is very strongly from Severus' rather biased viewpoint, one might say it was only fair._

_Heh heh heh. _

* * *

"Right then," said Severus in a dazed sort of tone, and walked carefully away. Wobbled, really; something had clearly happened to that boy.

Dumbledore's expression went from deadpan to concerned once Severus was truly gone. "Did somebody hurt him again?" he asked, more to himself than anything else.

"Looks like," opined the suit of armor behind him, but it did not try to elaborate.

"What do you care? Struggling is good for them, isn't it? Or so goes your theory," Veneficus sniped as he sat back down on the painted grass. He eyed the chessboard balefully. "Pawn to D3."

"What? Yes, of course," murmured Dumbledore, and tapped the board so the pawn moved as told. "Do you know what happened to him?" he added conversationally, studying the pieces.

"Unfortunately, no," Veneficus lied with aplomb, his eyes steady on the headmaster's bent form. "They get worse with each generation, you know. About all they've gotten from my side of the family anymore is the nose."

"Oh, I think he has more than THAT, Veneficus. His grades are excellent. You're terribly unkind," chided Dumbledore, and moved his king.

The move startled Veneficus. Frowning, he studied the pieces for nearly half a minute before speaking. "I am always unkind. You should not be surprised at it after all these years."

"Oh, I know, but I believe hope is an essential component to humanity, Veneficus," replied Dumbledore, studying his painted adversary carefully. "But I'm afraid you never understood hope or kindness. Not even when you were human."

"I"m quite human now, thank you very much, and it is and will always be my opinion that kindness is wasted the needy. It should only be given to those who earn it."

"That, my dear Veneficus, defeats the point of kindness," replied Albus, and winced at Veneficus' expression. "Oh, oh, I know that look."

"Check," Veneficus said mildly, and pointed. Dumbledore sighed and put Veneficus' queen where he indicated.

"I do wish you'd learned the point of kindness, Veneficus - if not in life, at least after death." He studied the board, thougthfully.

"Why?" Behind Veneficus, the shapeless column of darkness seemed to shift as if... amused. Could darkness be amused?

"Because then you'd be kinder to your children, for one thing," Dumbledore admonished, and moved his last knight. "Knight to E2."

Veneficus looked startled. He scowled at the board. "Nonsense. Queen to... wait. You're distracting me."

"Yes, I probably am," said Dumbledore with a brilliant smile, and waited. One minute passed, and then two. The darkness behind Veneficus shifted slightly, and Veneficus frowned more.

"You've sacrificed your last knight, Dumbledore," he said, and pointed. "Queen to to E2."

"Sacrifices must, I fear, sometimes be made," Dumbledore replied quietly, and moved the piece where told. His knight was removed from the board. "I think this one has enough problems already, don't you?" he added amiably, and hesitated, his hand lingering over his few remaining pieces.

"Sacrifices must, and what are you blathering about now?"

"Oh... I was just thinking about your latest child. As I'm sure you are; it isn't, after all, as though you have much else to do sitting up there all day," Dumbledore said, and there wasn't even the mildlest indication of accusation or suspicion in his tone.

Veneficus glared as though he'd threatened anyway, eyes narrow. "You are a wizened little bastard," he finally said, and Dumbledore made his move. It was a pointless one; a rook, in the middle of the board, in the general direction of Veneficus' king.

"Really? I think my parents _were_ legally married," said Dumbledore. "Although to be perfectly fair, I can't be sure."

Veneficus' black eyes were locked on Dumbledore and glittering. "Your king is exposed."

"I know."

Veneficus looked at him, hard. "Very well. Queen to E1."

Dumbledore did just that, and - making a little "bjoo" noise as a personal sound effect - watched Veneficus' queen knock his own king over with gusto. Smiling, he stood.

"Well! There you go. Excellent game as usual, Veneficus," he said very brightly and smiled.

Veneficus seemed to take offense. "What is there in that to make you so bloody happy? You've just lost," he snapped.

"Why, it's only a game, Veneficus," Dumbledore said gently, and - using his wand - whisked the board and all of its pieces into a small bag by the table. "And now that it's over, I get to put away the pieces and go home. I'm afraid you do not have that privilege."

"I AM home," Veneficus said with a growl, and Dumbledore nodded sadly.

"Yes. I suppose you are," he said with sorrow in his voice. He sighed. "After dinner, then?"

"You cannot possibly be that bored," snapped Veneficus, standing. His potions were gripped tightly in either hand; rather than being pleased by his victory, he seemed even more spiny than usual.

"Bored? No. But there is a new Dark Lord. While I know you would never consciously betray any information you might have regarding his activities, it helps me just to speak with you and remind myself what it is I am fighting for."

"And. That. Is?" said Veneficus, low, each word a poisoned dagger.

"That kindness, my dear Veneficus, is worth any sacrifice - because what it leaves behind when it dies is poison. Have a good afternoon!" And with that, Dumbledore swept up his back, vanished both the chair and table with his wand, and left. He was humming.

Veneficus glared after him.

"Bastard," he murmured dangerously as he climbed back onto his horse. "Leave my child alone."

Behind him, the darkness gathered. It seemed to shift around Veneficus' body for a moment, as though glad he were back in his original position, and then both of them were still.

The rest of the afternoon passed by in silence.


	6. Chapter Six

**Part Six **

Well, that was it. Severus had decided. He'd woken from his relaxation-spell-and-breakfast induced nap, given the whole matter a good two hours' worth of thought, and decided: this Quest with all its problems was not for him.

It wasn't as though he didn't want that book. The grimoire was a key to power and he knew it very well, but the price for attaining it was simply too high. Montgomery was gone; spectacularly gone, with a lightshow to boot, and even before he'd vanished, he hadn't been doing very well. The portrait was a bastard, the Grey Lady was a bitch, and the grimoire was not worth his life thank you very _much_.

And then on Tuesday, Severus realized that he'd spent nearly all of Monday thinking about that grimoire.

Well, that wasn't good. He'd decided, hadn't he? His decision had been made. There really wasn't any need to think about it any further. Then on Wednesday, he saw Evans and three other Questers whispering together in the library, and realized he'd spent most of Tuesday wondering if they'd solved the last riddle.

AUGH. What was wrong with him? This wasn't acceptable - this was ridiculous! He had better things to do than flirt with death (or disentegration or WHATEVER the hell had happened to Montgomery) and risk dismemberment! Plenty of things! In fact, he was going to buckle down and do those things, no matter what anybody said!

He did them all day Wednesday. He was a study fiend on Thursday, and spent every free moment of his time in the library on Friday, and was feeling very proud of himself until he realized he'd been logically whittling down the possibilities of just WHAT this grimoire may contain, based on who had it and the kind of magic keeping it hidden.

Oh, this was simply not fair. Not fair at all. Or perhaps, just perhaps, he'd been a little too hasty.

After all, nobody said he had to do anything dangerous. He was pursuing the grimoire on his own time, right? He wasn't doing it on assignment, or even in a way that anybody who mattered knew. He wasn't taking any wild risks, or attacking portraits the way Montgomery did. Was he? He certainly was not; and so maybe, it wasn't really the wisest thing in the world to drop the quest like the hot potato he'd thought it was.

Maybe he'd been wrong. He certainly had been before (albeit rarely). Considering, Severus finally decided to play a kind of bingo game with the universe: if he was "fated" to finish this quest (whatever THAT meant), then he would go to the library and overhear exactly what he needed from the Questers to get his game going again. If he were not "fated" to, then he would go to the library and not overhear anything of any worth whatsoever.

There! Subject finished. Feeling pleased with his newer decision, Severus gathered his textbooks and camped out in the library.

It was a wonderful idea. Everybody else was enjoying the weather outdoors, no one was bothering him, he could read and read and study for hours uninterrupted, and settle the matter of resuming or quitting the Quest once and for all. At least, it was a wonderful idea for the first three and a half hours; after that, it started to grow dull.

Very dull.

An hour passed; two. Then three, and to Severus' consternation, there was no sign of any of the Questers at all. Come on, now; how could he test Fate and come to his proper conclusion if there were no Questers here to either drop him hints or remain completely useless? This was not the way to conduct an experiment. Well, perhaps he'd have to extend his experiment another day - all the factors had to be present, after all, and he was getting hungry. Dinner awaited. Sighing in frustration, Severus began to pack away his well-marked schoolbooks and thought about food.

And then, there came a voice.

"Yes, I do think I've solved it," said Charles Montgomery cheerfully, and the whole group of Questers sat down.

Charles. Montgomery.

...impossible.

"Really? That's wonderful! Show me, show us, we've got to see!"

"I will. Have a seat, and I'll show you what the riddle means."

Impossible. IMPOSSIBLE. Montgomery was GONE. Whirling around, Severus raced up to the bookshelf and shoved the books aside, unable to believe what he was hearing.

Six Questers - Charles Montgomery among them - peered back at him with various expressions of startlement.

Montgomery looked fine. No bandages or burns, madness or maladies were visible. Smiling and cheerful, Montgomery blinked at Severus from behind his glasses and said, "Hello. Did you need something?"

Severus choked. Panicking, he pulled back away from the bookshelf and let the volumes he'd been holding fall back into place, hiding him from view. But this was not good enough; grabbing his bookbag, Severus turned and ran as quickly as he could to the end of the aisle and past them.

Six shocked students watched him tear by; no one said a word.

Severus ran a few more feet, making sure they could hear his footsteps retreating. Then - ignoring Madam Pince's evil, evil look - he turned on his heel and tiptoed back the way he'd come. Working his way quickly back around the other side of the stacks, he folded onto the floor one bookshelf away from where the Questers sat and listened. If he knelt JUST right -

"Weird," opined Montgomery, looking confused.

Yes. Severus could see them here, and since he was peeking from below knee level, they were less likely to spot him watching. This would do nicely.

"I think he's in some of my classes," offered the hateful Evans, and Severus resisted the urge to curse her through the stacks.

"Well, whoever he is, he's gone now," said Montgomery, and opened his notebook. "All right. Interruptions aside - who wants to hear the answer to the last riddle?"

"Ooh, me, me, me!" cried the other five, excited, four of them raising their hands.

Montgomery was enjoying himself. He held up one finger, chiding. "Hang on - first, let us review. The riddle in question is as follows:

_"We are little airy Creatures,  
All of diff'rent Voice and Features,  
One of us in Glass is set,  
One of us you'll find in Jet,  
T'other you may see in Tin,  
And the fourth a Box within,  
If the fifth you should pursue,  
It can never fly from You."_

Montgomery looked very pleased. "It was the word 'voice' that finally tipped me off. I started saying the rest of it out loud, over and over, just thinking to myself what it could mean, listening to my own VOICE - and that's when it came to me. The capitalized words - here." He waggled his wand in the air, and words appeared out of smoke, floating vaguely in the direction of the arithmancy section. "Glass. Jet. Tin. Box. You. Say them quickly, out loud with your eyes closed, and LISTEN to the words - the answer's right there, inside them."

Severus stared at them. Now what were they doing? And why was Montgomery here? How? At the top of his game, well, cheery, amiable - how could this even be the same person? Where the hell had he BEEN?

The Ravenclaws (and mudblood Gryffindor) were all doing exactly as they were told, keeping their eyes closed and saying the words over and over again out loud. Severus frowned. Something WAS familiar about the sequence, now that he heard it spoken; it wasn't the words themselves, no. Something about the rhythm - or the sounds, or -

Evans gasped. "Vowels! A, E, I, O, U! It's vowels, the answer is vowels!" Everyone stared at her for a moment; and then - quietly - they all cheered, stifling their joy just a little bit too late to be truly library-quiet.

Vowels?

Montgomery actually did a funny little bounce in his seat that looked like a jig. "Yes! You see, you've figured it out, too! Now, tomorrow after arithmancy - well, arithmancy for me, I don't know what classes YOU have - I say we meet up in the third floor corridor, outside the Runes classroom, and go in a group to see the Grey Lady. We've got it this time. I can feel it!"

Everyone was celebrating - hugging each other, wriggling in their chairs. Severus frowned, no longer watching them. Tomorrow? They were going tomorrow?

The others kept talking.

"But who's the author?"

"Jonathan Swift. We studied him in History of Magic last term, actually - tried to write storybooks Muggles would like to introduce them to the idea of different kinds of people still being people - used a sort of bastardized concept of leprechauns and giants to get his point across. Didn't work, though, but it was a bloody good try."

Tomorrow. The Questers were going to see the Grey Lady tomorrow. _Severus had the answer and they weren't going to the Grey Lady until tomorrow._

His breath caught in his throat. It was a risk, a huge risk, he could spoil everything if he did this wrong -

This was his CHANCE.

There wasn't time for him to second-guess. Bookbag in hand, tiptoed as quickly as he could for the library door, ignoring the glare Pince sent his way. Finally free of the need to be quiet, he began to run, pounding top-speed up the stairs toward the portrait near the Ravenclaw tower, and hoping desperately that Veneficus was going to be in a better mood than usual.

* * *

Veneficus was on the horse again.

Mystery-potions in both hands, Veneficus sat in glory, his expression one of complete disdain and supremacy over all. Behind him the darkness swirled, shifting in a breeze of its own making, and for one creepy moment, Severus thought it might actually be aware of him.

Riiiight. Next he was going to be talking to trees.

"Have you... seen the... Grey Lady?" he asked, still trying to gather his breath from his three-flight jog.

Veneficus looked vaguely disgusted. "Even if I had - which I have not - why on earth would I bother telling you? Then you might be happy. I'd rather not have to witness that."

Severus sighed. Veneficus was obviously going to be no help. Resisting a childish urge to blow a rasberry at the painted Princeps, Severus jogged on and began looking in various classrooms.

Several of the rooms up here did not seem to be used for anything at all. Empty, or filled with stacked chairs and dusty tables, they smelled like old, abandoned closets. Other classrooms were obviously heavily used (and possibly Peeves-visited), showing damage from faulty spells, a few forgotten textbooks, scattered oddities like feathers and pillows and quills. For the most part, Severus could identify what was taught in each class by the damage and bric-a-brac left behind.

He stopped when he came to the classroom with herbs hanging from the ceiling.

Everything felt just like it had been before. Strange symbols on the chalkboard, an odd and enticing smell of blood and dirt and power, tingling remains of some strange spell that made the whole left wall glow green - this classroom was wonderful. Now if only he could figure out why -

"Can I help you?" came a pleasant voice from behind him. Startled, he spun.

A round ghost in a monk's habit was smiling at him. Hufflepuff, that was the Hufflepuff ghost; what was his name - the Fat F... Friar, that was it.

"You really shouldn't be here. If you stay, you're sure to be caught," shared the Friar kindly, a look of concern on his portly face.

Well, Veneficus wasn't talking to him; a Hufflepuff ghost would have to do. "I have to be here. Do you know where the Grey Lady is?" asked Severus.

"The Grey Lady?" The Friar's eyes widened. "Why?"

Severus scowled. "Because I need to speak to her, stupid fool! Now do you know where she is or NOT?" he said, and the kindliness melted from the Friar's face like ice in the sun.

The ghost looked admonishing. "I won't help you if you're rude," he chided gently, waggling one wide finger.

Severus released a slow, controlled sigh. Patience, why did everyone want PATIENCE from him these days - "Sorry. I'm sorry. I need to see the Grey Lady. I need to see her. I have something to tell her. It's important. Do you know where she is?"

The Fat Friar wasn't through chiding. "I might know where she is, young man. But you really need to work on your tone of voice."

_Be patient_, Severus told himself. "You're right, and I'm sorry. But it's really important."

The ghost looked at him for a long moment. "All right. I'll show you where she is. Come this way." And he floated out of the room.

Finally! Relieved that his frustrating kowtowing had worked, Severus followed the Fat Friar down the hall.

Walking and floating in silence, they once again passed Veneficus' portrait (the latter sneered), and then traveled up the stairs to the fourth floor. They turned the corner; went through a funny sort of archway, and up a half-flight of steps which stopped - oddly - at nothing. There, a couple of feet away from the landing, was a strange kind of platform.

The Fat Friar "Here she is!" he said cheerfully and waved at the platform.

"Where?" Severus stared at it dubiously. There was no ghost visible where indicated. Set neatly along the portrait-laden wall, the platform had barely room to stand on - although seven feet long, it was barely two feet wide, and just looking at it made Severus nervous. Peeking over the bannister, he glanced down. It was a clear drop from here, straight to the bottom.

...eek.

"There, young man! In the portrait. Have a good night!" said the Friar happily, and with that, he floated away.

"Fucking weirdo," muttered Severus, and looked at the portrait in question.

Inside the portrait sat a little girl reading a book. She was extremely pretty; large, brown eyes and ringlets of dark blonde hair cradled a face surely modeled after cherubim. A satin red dress in subdued hues hid her small body; her shoes matched, and to her right was a puppy which might or might not have been stuffed, nestled comfortably under one arm. Light streamed in from the window on her right; books covered every spare inch of space visible except where she was sitting. The child could not have been more than five years old.

As he watched, she turned the page.

"Hello," he tried.

She did nothing.

He frowned, gripping the railing tightly and a little bit nervously. "I said hello."

The little girl looked up at him. "Shhhh," she said, bringing one finger to her lips. "People are reading. Please go away."

_For crying out loud... _Severus rolled his eyes. "You aren't the Grey Lady as a child or something, are you?"

The little girl looked up at him again. "I said, shhhh," she reiterated. "If you want to speak to me, you have to step on the platform. I won't listen to people who shout."

Oh gods. Severus glanced down again. It was a long, long way to the first floor. He gripped the bannister tightly; grimoire - the grimoire, he wanted the grimoire. Surely that platform wouldn't just... collapse, would it?

Dizzy. Just a little. Perhaps looking down was a bad idea.

"...all right," said Severus quietly, breathing a little too quickly, and with one deep gasp, leapt with both feet forward onto the platform.

He misjudged slightly and hit the wall. He gasped; for one second it seemed he was going to ricochet right backwards off the platform, but he managed to land on it and stagger to the side, keeping his feet. His heart - pounding so hard, he could feel it in his fingertips -

The little girl was looking at him coolly. He'd practically bounced off her face. "Are you quite all right?" she said after a moment, sounding as though she really didn't care if he were.

"Yes," choked Severus, staring straight down. Gods, this platform was so damned SMALL - focus. Focus. FOCUS. "I need to see the... the Grey Lady."

"I am the Grey Lady," replied the painting in a sweetly tinkling voice.

Severus was far too aware of the death-drop behind him to feel overly disappointed. "I don't think you're quite the one I was looking for," he finally said.

"Which one were you looking for, little boy?" asked the girl.

Dizzy. And sick - he felt sick. It was so HIGH - "Your ghost-you. Adult.. grown-up, ghost-you. I have the answer to her final riddle."

"Ahhhh," said the little girl wisely, and without any further warning the ghost of the Grey Lady shot out of her torso and right through Severus' face.

Severus gasped. Startled, badly startled, he lost his balance, he stepped backwards, he fell -

Fell. Slowly, but so quickly, gravity pulling him backwards like the drown of time itself, panicking, scrabbling to try to grab the platform, a portrait, the stairwell was too far but he had to grab something, anything, ANYTHING -

He screamed.

Everything went black.

* * *

Severus became aware, gradually, that he was on something that was moving. Whatever it was, it slowly slid to a stop with a tiny jolt that sent pain shrieking through every nerve; then, as he was trying to process that, it began swinging back the other way. Nothing else happened for what seemed a very long time; then, gently - but it hurt, oh gods it hurt - the thing stopped again, with another tiny jolt, and was momentarily still.

He felt the uneven terraces of steps at his back and suddenly understood where he was. One of the swinging staircases - God only knew WHY the blasted things had to move - had situated itself underneath him as he fell, and so he was not dead. Relief of such power filled his system that for a moment, he started to cry.

"Do you have the answer for me, child?"

Blearly, Severus opened his tired eyes and looked up. Above him floated the Grey Lady, calm, unperturbed, apparently quite unconcerned about her attempted murder.

If that's what it was.

...Severus was having trouble thinking. The stairway started moving again, and sharp, tingling pain crawled down his spine. He sobbed once.

Smoothly, the Grey Lady floated above him, following.

Answer. He needed to answer, or all of this was for nothing. "V... vowels," he managed, and groaned. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. What had happened to his back?

The Grey Lady smiled. "Very good. That is the answer. Goodnight." And she floated back toward the portrait.

WHAT? No, no no no, this was NOT happening, not after this, not after all of this - "Wait!" He lifted one hand, or tried - it hurt too much. He left it at his side.

"Yes?" said the Grey Lady, turning back to face him.

"You... you're supposed to give me another clue! Or the answer, or... "

"You're not one of my Questers, little one," said the Grey Lady calmly; there was no rancor in her tone. "Good job on the quiz, though. Goodnight." And she floated back through the portrait and away.

No. Oh... oh, no. Severus lay there, gaping after her, when the stairwell decided to swing away again and he could see the portrait no more.

There was a new pain now, deep in his chest, that was far worse than any damage his back. The stairwell stopped, again with that tiny, tiny jolt that he'd never noticed when undamaged and on his feet, but he could hardly bring himself to care. In fact, he didn't care to move at all.

It hurt. Everything hurt.

The Quest was over. She wasn't going to give him any more clues.

Everything hurt.

The stairway moved again. Maybe... just lying here was the best way to go, after all.

* * *

"Mr. Snape?" said a voice above him. It broke through his sleep, his dark, peaceful dreams, and pain suddenly reminded him of where he was on the stairs. But now there was light pushing through his closed eyelids - and voices.

Many, many voices. Oooooh hell.

"Wha... ugh," said Severus. Hands were touching him. Whoever it was shifted him slightly, and the tendrils of pain in his back suddenly became piercing, broken pieces of glass. He cried out.

"Careful, careful there," murmured McGonagall, teacher McGonagall was holding him carefully, levitating him now up off the stairs and keeping him in the same position he'd been when he fell. He tried to open his eyes, but the light was far too blinding. "Mr. Lupin, go and get healer Smethwyck immediately. Run." Her voice was calm, her hands were gentle. She did not seem upset at him for apparently falling asleep on the stairs - or whatever it was she thought he'd done - and this simple fact told him that he was in far worse shape than he'd thought.

"Great," he croaked, and McGonagall hushed him.

"Hold still, Mr. Snape. Help is coming. Try not to move."

Severus could do that. In fact, the buzzing voices of students in the halls were very calming; he could feel the rhythm of their language, the pulses of their words, and before Smethwyck even arrived, he'd fallen back to sleep.

* * *

Healing magic was a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful thing.

Severus was released from the hospital wing that evening. He'd broken his back - not very surprising, given that he'd fallen nearly fifteen feet - as well as several other bones when he fell, but none of it was apparently out of the ordinary for Smethwyck. It certainly took a lot of work ("Come here, Poppy, I want you to see this"), but it was clearly not too much, and after everything had been mended and he'd had a little nap, Severus was allowed to go.

He hadn't expected to attain a small measure of fame.

Everyone wanted to know what happened. Severus was startled; somehow, it seemed every student in the school knew that he'd been found with a broken back on a moving stairway - one which, somehow, was on the first floor by the time morning came, which indicated that it only swivelled on the fourth floor late at night. He'd been found by an entire group of first years - who'd promptly run screaming back to the Great Hall about somebody being murdered, bringing out the whole school and - fortunately - several of the teachers.

Severus' own version of events was simple: he'd been exploring, tripped and fell down the stairs, and knocked himself out. That was that. There was no need to explain anything else. However, the stories surrounding him had grown exponentially during the day, and by the time Severus was released, they'd become enormous. Trolls, warlocks, a toussle with Peeves, six different explosion stories, and at least one wild tale of fighting off demons were waiting for him. Three people thought they'd heard Black and Potter talking about sticking a broom up his arse whil he lay there; but other than that, everyone seemed to have responded to his adventure with all due concern.

For the first time in his life, Severus was something of a celebrity. The irony was, right now, he did not want it.

Exactly what he needed to do was very clear to him. It had been since Smethwyck had finally removed the last slicing shards of pain from his back, and he'd spent the whole afternoon in the medical wing working it out. The whole of it could be encapsulated in one word: Revenge. The list of those he needed to put a curse on was small but very specific. The foremost, of course, was the Grey Lady, who'd left him where he was when he was injured when it was her fault he'd been injured to begin with. Then came Peeves the poltergeist, whom Severus had not forgiven for that leech incident, and suspected was guilty of letting the Grey Lady know he was not one of the Questers. And lastly came Veneficus, who was a puss-filled son of a bitch sadist, and deserved whatever he got.

However, he could not possibly extract revenge while so many people were bothering him. They were worse than witnesses; they were getting in the way of his studying. He still wasn't even certain HOW to curse a poltergeist or spirit to begin with, and his attempts to discover what to do were constantly being hampered by idiots who kept interrupting. Over, and over, and over again -

"Snape?"

ARGH. "What?" he snapped and looked up

It was Montgomery. Severus stared.

"Uh. Hey. Uh. So... how are you?" said the older Ravenclaw with a grin, and Severus gaped at him.

"...fine," he finally said, confused beyond all reason. What was this madman going to do?

"Well, good. Um. I heard you, uh... sort of had an accident with the Grey Lady?"

He'd _heard_? Where had he heard that? Severus's eyes grew wide. "Maybe," he said, unnerved.

"Yeah." Montgomery looked vaguely guilty. "Listen, I've been thinking. I know you were listening in the library, and, uh..." He sighed. "I kinda thought you might try to get involved, but then I thought, naw, he wouldn't do that, and I just let it go, and... uh." Reaching up, Montgomery rubbed the back of his head, his expression bashful. "It's kind of my fault you got hurt. I should have stopped you. I'm sorry."

Severus could not speak. "...what?" he said at last, quietly.

Montgomery shrugged. "Sorry. I just wanted to say... and... yeah. Don't try anything again, 'cause... nobody's watching out for you, okay? And again... I'm sorry." And with that, flushed and miserable, Montgomery turned on his heel and left the library.

Severus stared after him. Anger, then shock, then embarassment, then disgust hit him in waves

Montgomery _knew_? But how? Nobody knew the real story - except for that little girl and the Grey Lady, and it didn't make sense that they would talk about it, did they? But maybe they had; they had, and now Montgomery had come in here to find him, apologizing for not keeping him safe.

Right. Sure. SURE he was. Severus saw right through this trick. Montgomery wasn't here because he was _concerned_. He was here to keep Severus from continuing on the Quest because Severus had come too close to the answer!

Fury and determination flooded Severus' heart. All right, so the Grey Lady knew he was not part of the Questers any more. And now Montgomery knew as well. Montgomery - somehow not the same Montgomery as had threatened him in the hall - knew.

So what?

...it did not mean he had to quit looking.

Visibly calm and controlled, Severus turned back to his research on spirits and how to curse them, already making plans for tomorrow and what his next step woudl be. He would find the answers on his own. He had to. And if his damned painted ancestor wasn't going to help any more than anybody else, then fuck them ALL, Severus didn't need them anyway.

Severus had decided. This meant war.

* * *

**Part Six - A Different Point of View, VI**

The inside of the portrait didn't look anything at all like the outside. Oh, certainly it was physically simple; it could be torn apart, dissected, ripped into strips of canvas and flaking ink, but there was so much more to a magical portrait than that. This portait, especially, was different even from those around it.

From Veneficus' point of view, of course, everything here was three-dimensional. The world "Outside" looked flat to him, and also colorless, but that was because he who had painted HIS portrait had done it with many brilliant colors in mind. Everything from the black of the earth to the coal of his horse to the red of the sky and the gold of his potion was magnificently eye-catching; he had been in this portrait, in this place, for almost two thousand years, and he still had not grown bored.

Of course, the company helped, too.

Behind him were several things that for whatever reason were not visible from the Outside. Most of them were skeltons; one of them was a dessicated corpse, and the last... well. Perhaps the last was better off speaking for itself.

"Let me go," the boy cried, much more quietly now, for the darkness had been feeding on him. He'd made it so far, too, along the path, even dissecting the riddle of the two portraits called _Power to Hold the World._ Most men never made it that far; very few even made it past the gilded frame that held the painting, and almost none ever realized that there were two portraits to begin with. On the whole, Veneficus was pleased with this offering.

Outside, Charles Montgomery walked up to the portrait and smiled.

"I almost think I've figured you out," he said cheerfully, smiling at the terrifying man on the horse as though they were best friends.

Veneficus smirked in return. Ravenclaws; they were all the same. Always such a focus on the academic, so brilliant, so clever, so fucking IMPRACTICAL, never once thinking about how to apply what they learned and what they did, and always because of this the first to suffer.

Montgomery here was a perfect case in point.

"Have you now," murmured Veneficus, and between his thighs his powerful stallion shifted. Two thousand years and Veneficus had never yet figured out if the horse were cognizant or not; it could be - the Darkness that shared his world could have done any number of things here, and Veneficus was more than aware he would never fully understand it all. That was all right. A wise man accepted his own limitations.

"I have!" chirruped Montgomery - if a 17-year-old boy could possibly be thought of as chirruping. "And as soon as I've figured out how to activate it, I'll have that grimoire! Isn't that wonderful?"

Veneficus smiled. The boy behind him - invisible to the boy in front - groaned, shifted, tried to move under the weight of invisible vampiric chains that held him down. But Outside, Charles Montgomery did not see.

"Good for you, then - as long as you take proper precautions," murmured Veneficus, his dark eyes meeting Montgomery's baby-blue ones. "Somehow, though, I doubt you will. Then, instead of being wonderful... everything will be very, very bad."

Montgomery chuckled softly. "Yes, of course, I know. You always say that. And as I keep telling you, this is a GAME. I see through it now, all right? The Grey Lady isn't going to be leading her own house into the lion's mouth." He shook his head, smiling. "Anyway, I just thought I'd let you know. By the end of the semester, I'll have it. Goodnight!" And with a cheerful wave, he left.

Veneficus smiled cruelly as he went, baring his crooked teeth in a manner not disimilar to a hungry lion. Turning his head slightly, he spoke to the boy behind him. "Wasn't that fun, Charles? Getting to watch your young and eager self making the same mistakes all over again?"

On the ground and barely recognizable as human, the blackened-burned lump that was Montgomery stared at Veneficus with pleading, baby-blue eyes. Unable to speak, he moaned.

"Yes, I know, isn't it funny?" said Veneficus as he chuckled. "It'll take him months to get where you are, of course... and by then, you'll be gone, and he will be in your place. The whole cycle will begin over again. Ra, I love this job."

Montgomery-Inside made a hitching sound, as though weeping, but he could do little else. The darkness was coming again. Slowly. From far over the horizon, it came, silent, yet carrying so much force and power that no one living in this portrait could be unaware of its approach.

On his suddenly restless horse, Veneficus shifted; closing his eyes, he groaned.

On the suddenly ash-covered groaned, Montgomery whimpered, and shook.

It was feeding time again.


	7. Chapter 7

** A Matter of Malevolence, Part Seven **

Portraits. There were bloody, blasted, bedamned _portraits_ everywhere, and they were taking over his life.

There were portraits that snickered at him when someone cursed him in the hall. There were portraits that offered advice when tests and projects were due. There were portraits singing, portraits sharing frames, portraits that contained women who coquettishly flirted at the Potters and Blacks of this world but ignored Severus, portraits guarding doorways or hidden passages, and portraits that featured prominently in quizzes for History of Magic.

That last part was of particular interest to him.

_The Four Founders did what they could to keep the castle "alive" in a myriad of ways, including the addition of sentient suits of armor, prattling portraits, and a free pass to all ghosts who wanted to set up residence here - as long as they abided by the rules, of course. Salazar Slytherin was particularly interested in collecting portraits with a unique history or incidental powers, and was personally responsible for the gift of the "Fat Lady," who currently guards the entrance to Gryffindor tower. _

Oh, ho! So the unpleasant, pink-clad bitch was a gift from Slytherin to Gryffindor? Severus couldn't help but see the humor in that.

_Of course, most of the original portraits and magical items have long lost their charm and been re-spelled or replaced due to (mostly) accidental destruction. One of the few notable exceptions to this rule is the portrait on the second floor of the school entitled, "Power to Hold the World." Apparently the portrayal of an ancient Knight of Walpurgis, this portrait has not only retained its charms, but - to the frustration of many a headmaster - is seemingly impossible to either move or damage. Salazar Slytherin clearly meant it to remain as long as Hogwarts itself still stood. _

Severus stared at the book and read the passage again. Then he took out his quill and read it again, this time marking the important bits. He read it a third time.

Salazar Slytherin HIMSELF had placed _Power to Hold the World_ on the wall. His own ancestor, put there by Slytherin. Severus experienced something then that, as a half-blood, he'd never known before: pride in his family tree.

The Prince line must have really been something, once upon a time.

A gasp from the doorway disrupted his reverie. Severus looked up to find Widdershins - again - standing in the doorway, seemingly surprised to find Severus in the bedroom when nobody else was around. They eyed one another for a long moment, and then Widdershins spoke.

"You like it in here, don't you," he said in tones of distinct unhappiness.

"Yes," replied Severus, wondering what on earth Widdershins wanted.

Instead of replying, Widdershins turned on his heel, walked out, and was gone.

"Weirdo," Severus murmured, and turned back to his studies. There was no mention in this passage of the second portrait on the first floor, which was strange. He scanned the passages for further references, but there was only one.

_It is of some note that many of the charms were made to be culturally relevant. Modern English, for example, is spoken by most charmed items within the castle, rather than the language spoken when those things were made. This changes with each generation, although other trappings such as painted clothing and written or carved words remain as they were when created. One notable exception is "Power to Hold the World," in which the sole occupant's clothing appears to change and keep pace with the standards in each generation. Why and how this was done is a mystery. Various minds believe that the subject was painted naked and, in an attempt to avoid offense, charmed to appear clothed using the viewer's imagination. In truth, however, no one really knows._

The chapter promptly switched subjects to something boring regarding the greenhouses, and Severus lost interest. He took a deep breath and began ticking off facts.

One: the portrait in the first floor corridor had seen him, and the portrait on the second floor corridor had known about it, so somehow, they were connected. All right; that was one issue to deal with.

Two: The portrait contained Veneficus Princeps, who was not only his ancestor, but apparently a "Knight of Walpurgis," whatever the hell that was. _Hogwarts, a History_ didn't elaborate on that; he'd have to look it up himself.

Three: Salazar Slytherin had put the portrait there himself. That in itself was an entire wealth of wonder that needed to be explored.

Four: Veneficus was rude, abusive, obnoxious, and foul; to boot, whatever Slytherin had done when he put the portrait there, it was done for good. No one had been able to silence the portrait or take it off the wall - and given the way Veneficus acted, it came as no surprise that others had tried.

Five: There were two of them, damnit.

All of this was fascinating, but Severus wasn't sure it was actually getting him anywhere. Why, for example, had Montgomery and the Grey Lady gotten involved with his ancestor's portrait in the first place? What the HELL had it done to Montgomery, for that matter, and were both the crazy one and the "kind" one the same person or not?

Severus put down his quill and gripped the hair on both sides of his head, rubbing and tugging at once as though to give his brain more room to think. This would require some empirical observation, that was all there was too it. Slipping off his bed and taking parchment and quill with him, Severus left the dungeon and went to the first floor corridor.

* * *

The portrait on the first floor was ignoring him. Veneficus looked vaguely sleepy and very bored, almost like someone who'd just had a magnificent turkey supper and retained no interest in the outside world. However, Severus would not go away; he stood a foot from the canvas and eyed it with such malevolent challenge that Veneficus finally had to relent.

He sighed. "What do you want, you ugly, skinned little rabbit?" he said.

Severus didn't give himself time to puzzle over that insult. "I want to know why there are two portraits," he said.

"That's nice," his ancestor replied congenially. "I want to know why your dick's so small you can't wank off, too, but some mysteries are better left unprobed."

Oh, gods. There was no response to that. "Answer me," Severus demanded, trying to keep on track. "I'm your family member. Whatever the hell you were doing to Montgomery resulted in a beating and a broken back for me, which were both your fault. You have to answer me!"

Veneficus stared at him with horrible intensity for such a long time that Severus nearly lost his nerve, and then he did something even worse: he began to laugh. He laughed uproariously, gloriously, hard enough that he doubled over his horse (which seemed to be expressing its own version of merriment) and - dear hell, were those tears?

"My fault!" Veneficus spurted, curled onto his horse's mane; he'd nearly dropped his potions. "You get more stupid with every generation! My fault! Bahahaha!"

Severus left, and the laughter followed. That had been unpleasant, but not completely unexpected; jogging as quickly as he could, he raced up to the second floor and the portrait that resided there.

It snickered at him. "My fault," said Veneficus, and Severus nodded, pleased. So far, so good.

"Yes, it is. So what are you going to do about it?"

"I'll proclaim your name from the halls forever, shouting to every generation that indeed it was _my fault_ that Severus Snape has a pitiful wang, _my fault_ that he cannot handle children only moderately older than he is, _my fault_ that he cannot fly on a broom without bruising his arse, _my fault_ that no one likes him, _my fault _that no one loves him, _my fault _that his own parents would rather he stay here over Christmas break so they don't have to look at the pitiful creature his mother squeezed from between her legs - "

That was enough of _that_. Veneficus had started out ridiculous but ended hitting far too close to home for Severus' taste; moving quickly, Severus raced back down the steps toward the first floor portrait again, and tried to pretend that his heart was only pounding because he'd run.

The portrait downstairs was still laughing; Veneficus wiped his eyes on his sleeve as Severus approached.

"The one upstairs is bigger," Severus announced at it to keep conversation rolling, and in response, for some reason Veneficus slid gracefully off his horse to the ground.

"Mmm," he replied. He placed the potions carefully in the grass, then walked to the very foreground of his portrait where he could _loom_.

Arms crossed, Veneficus grinned down at his descendent, showing too many teeth and such wide eyes that he looked ready to devour him whole. Severus stepped back. The portrait was too big; Veneficus looked real. He looked real enough to be dangerous.

"And now you're going to try to figure me out," Veneficus said with such condescension it made Severus' jaw hurt. "When better men than you have tried, older men, and wiser, and far better educated. You _disgust_ me, Severus Snape. You're repulsive. Disgust_ing_. If this is all my line's come to, then I hope your enemies win. I hope they manage to destroy you, to _murder_ you, to leave you weeping for death with snot sliding between your sniveling lips, and when it comes, I hope I'm there to watch."

"So my parents still want me to stay here over break?" said Severus, forcing himself to remain focused and trying to pretend words could never hurt him.

Veneficus' smirk faltered. "What?" he said.

"Ah HA!" Severus cried, pointing in victory. And then, he ran away.

Breathless by the time he reached the dungeon but flushed with triumph, Severus flung himself onto his bed and laughed. It wasn't a terribly nice laugh. It rose the ceiling like a torturer's cackle, leaping cruelly through the air vents and startling the first years who were studying in the common room. It carried both the pain of what Veneficus had said and the pleasure in the knowledge that Veneficus had been tricked.

He sighed; then his smile faded. What, in truth, had he actually accomplished?

Well, he'd tricked the first floor portrait into showing it didn't know what the second floor portrait did. Maybe. Well, it was that, or his comment had been too obscure to understand.

Damn. He couldn't be sure.

_- that his own parents would rather he stay here over Christmas break so they don't have to look at the pitiful creature his mother squeezed from between her legs - _

That wasn't true. It wasn't. Was it? It wasn't. Severus refused to accept this poison. Besides, Christmas break was right around the corner; he hadn't signed up to stay. He was going home. Of course he was going home. His parents weren't fabulous, but they wanted him there. He was completely, absolutely sure that they did.

The next night at dinner, the owl changed his mind.

* * *

Severus sat in his usual seat at the Slytherin table, ignoring the frivolity of the students around him. The last exams for the semester were done as of today. Homework was turned in (except for the bits due in January, but that was ages from now), assignments completed, and grades, good or ill, were already assigned. People were going home for Christmas now, and as everybody knew, Christmas meant _happy_.

For his part, Severus had never seen anything like Christmas done Hogwarts-style.

Garlands, candles, baubles, snow, ornaments, costumes, sparkles and incredibly good smells colluded together to overwhelm the senses. The food even changed; it tended to be holiday-themed now, with things like pie-crusted, cherry-covered ham followed up by red and green chocolate mints that sang when you ate them. It was honestly a little intimidating; the only familiar bit was the Christmas trees planted all over the castle, and none of them looked like the dusty, plasticine abomination his father brought down from the attic every December first.

And it was so _warm_.

Cold outside, but warm in the castle. Warm in the dungeons, warm in the Great Hall, warm in the classrooms - it was like being embraced, all the time, by Hogwarts playing mother. Severus was finding it difficult to be inherently unpleasant when so very comfortably warm. No one seemed to have noticed, but he had smiled at least twice in the last few days. It was all so very odd.

The train was leaving tomorrow; he'd packed his things. Everyone around him seemed thrilled to be leaving, and yet... and yet Hogwarts was beginning to feel almost like home in an entirely different way. Was that normal? Was it a sign of being a bad child? Why did he feel this way? The more he chewed it in his mind, the less he liked its flavor, and yet he could not deny it: a small part of him wanted to stay here forever.

And then, a snowy owl landed in his chocolate pudding and splattered it all over hell.

"Gah!" he cried, along with anyone else in the blast zone, and the owl - as if its poor flying were _his_ fault - snapped its beak at him a few times and shook its leg nearly violently. On its leg and under the pudding, Severus could read his name.

Severus sputtered. Ignoring the other students (who were coming up with some truly inventive expletives), he plucked the letter from the owl - which tried to bite him - and opened its sticky folds.

_Dear Severus_, it began in his mother's handwriting, and somehow, he already knew.

_Your father's mother has taken very ill, and we are going to see her. She's in a Muggle hospital in Scarborough; they say she isn't going to last the week. I'm afraid, my son, that they only allow two visitors for her at a time. Tobias and I felt that you would have a very miserable Christmas watching your grandmother die, even though this is a side of the family you've never met, so it seems best to us that you stay at Hogwarts through the turn of the new year. I've stayed there then, and it's a bit lonely, but not bad; you can work on your potions and Latin. I've already informed the headmaster. _

_We're expecting great things of you, Severus. You have no excuse to fail. _

_Love,  
Mother and Father_

And in an entirely different handwriting -

_P. S. Don't expect any presents. The postman couldn't find your school if his life depended on it. _

Severus took a deep breath and held it. This all seemed too much to process right away, so he took it piecemeal and read it again.

Right. It seemed he'd be staying here over the holidays after all. Right.

"Everything all right, Severus?" came a familiar voice, and Severus looked up to see Malfoy peering at him from across the table. He'd somehow managed not to get any pudding on him, a fact for which his neighbors looked extremely disgruntled.

"Yes." The word was out of his mouth almost before the last _s_ of his name had been spoken. "Why? What do you want this time?"

"I'm only asking, Severus, because you've turned pistachio green. You usually look sort of almond-colored, so I thought it wise to check," said Malfoy in the tone of one who knows the explosion is coming but tries to avoid it anyway.

"I'm fine!" Severus became aware that he'd shouted it, and because of that - and the pudding - people were staring at him. Oh gods. No. "I said I'm FINE!" he stated more loudly, as if that would turn the attention away.

Malfoy glanced around as well and smiled. "Little accident with the pudding, no worries!" he said cheerfully, and took out his wand. A moment or two passed while he spelled the people around him, saving Severus and the rueful owl for last; when it was finally clean, the owl snapped at Severus one more time before flying away.

"You just make everyone love you, don't you, Severus," Malfoy remarked, and Severus stood so quickly that his hips bumped the table and sloshed some of his pumpkin juice onto the cloth.

"I'm leaving," he announced.

"All right. We all are tomorrow," Malfoy probed quietly.

Most attention had drifted away from Severus at this point. They were beginning to grow used to his fits. "I'm not," he replied, and folded up his newly-cleaned letter.

Malfoy was studying his hands. "You're shaking," he pointed out. Severus was saved from replying by a voice from the head table.

"All right, everyone!" Dumbledore announced, hands up for silence. "Tomorrow, the trains are leaving for London at ten A. M. sharp, as you well know. Make sure you've checked everything you'll need for the holidays, and speak to your prefects before you leave. Have a wonderful holiday!" With that, the entire hall broke into boisterous cheers; they knew a semester's official end when they heard one, and began streaming out into the hall to return to their rooms.

Severus stood where he was, like a rock in a river, watching them go. The letter remained in his hands.

Malfoy watched him but said nothing, and Severus did not move until the hall was empty of everyone but just the two of them. Severus didn't even glance Malfoy's way when he finally left the hall. Whatever issue he carried in his thoughts left no room for anything else.

* * *

** Part Six - A Different Point of View, VII **

Veneficus looked very puzzled as his descendent ran away. "What the fuck did that mean?" he asked of the empty hall, then frowned. "Did the little prat just go mad while I was watching him?" There was of course no answer, or none that any but him could hear. He glanced around the hall; no one was near. Sure of his solitude, Veneficus let his shoulders sag, and his countenance slowly changed. Sorrow, grave and bitter, replaced the arrogance twisting his mouth; endless years came to rest in his black eyes, and they seemed both heavy and painful. "They're all destroyed," he whispered thickly, and then the person he least wanted to see came striding around the corner.

"You're off your horse!" said Dumbledore as he approached the portrait. "How lovely. Does that mean you're up for a game of chess?" Cheerful, horribly friendly, he held up a chessboard and a baggy full of pieces.

If Veneficus had had spines, they'd be bristling. "No," he said, keeping his back to the headmaster, and bent to retrieve his potions.

"Oh, come now, it's nearly Christmas," chided Dumbledore, pulling up a chair he'd conjured from nowhere. "The students are all leaving tomorrow, the halls will be empty, and you'll be bored. Let's have a bit of fun, hm?"

"You've had too much 'fun' already, you wrinkled baboon," Veneficus replied distractedly and without much energy. "Any more fun and your arse will loosen, and all the rats will get out. However will you make your arbitrary decisions then?"

Dumbledore's smile was replaced with a compassionate look of understanding, of _knowing_, and in that moment, Veneficus loathed him more than ever. "Veneficus... what happened?" The headmaster's voice had gone softer, gentler and - Ra help them all - _caring._

Veneficus remained where he was, clenching his potions to the point of white knuckles. He scowled up at the formidable darkness in his sky as though seeking strength not to explode. "Nothing. Thanks to you, nothing. Thanks to the fantastic job you did destroying my family, nothing. There will never _be_ anything but nothing, now."

Dumbledore had set up the table, the board, and all the pieces - giving Veneficus white - and taken his seat. "You're morose tonight. I don't think I heard a single four-letter word in that entire speech."

Veneficus turned to face him, and fury took the place of his melancholy. "You're a bastard!" he opined.

"That's better. Come now, what shall your first move be, hm?"

There was a long moment of silence. "The little shit is going to die," Veneficus said, "And there's no one left to take his place. THAT'S what your meddling has done. My family's going to end, and it's all _your_ fault."

"You said your family ended seven generations ago, Veneficus, but it hasn't seemed to."

"It HAS! And now they're going to be finished completely!" Veneficus stomped his foot.

"Veneficus, I do try to keep harm from coming to the students of my school," Dumbledore chided mildly, then stilled. "If there is a specific threat to him, Veneficus... you need to tell me."

Veneficus was silent for a long, long time. Then suddenly, he flopped into the grass in the front of the portrait like a recalcitrant child. "Pawn to E4."

"As you wish," replied Dumbledore, both in response to the chess move and the refusal to specify the threat.

And upstairs, scowling, Veneficus Princeps muttered invectives against the man who'd ruined his family, then turned away from the chess game he didn't really want to watch.

He mounted his horse, turned the animal, and cantered down behind the painted hill until he was out of sight to anyone who might be in the hall. He rode until he came to the darkness, which had drifted down - as if sentient - to meet him at the hill's base. He dismounted.

Head down but face determined, Veneficus strode almost at a run into that darkness as though it were his only salvation, as though it were his only refuge, and it swallowed him without a trace.

Downstairs, the Veneficus in the first-floor portrait lost the match.

back to :: hp fanfic :: back to writings :: part eight - under construction


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